


Things We Don't Do

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 2x4 divergent, Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Hood saga, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Jughead's a bitch, References to Depression, now so is Betty, post 2x4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: There are some things Jughead and Betty don't do. Join the Serpents. Commune with serial killers. Kiss goodbye? Boundaries keep changing, especially as Betty's boyfriend pulls away to the south side and a killer enters her life. As everything starts to spiral, she tries to handle everything herself and salvage what she can. After witnessing Jughead get beaten into the Serpents, she swears off the Black Hood's game and tries to go dark. But she won't be let off so easily.





	1. Communicate

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy so yeah. This fic is gonna get dark. And there aren't a lot of HAPPY Bughead moments but there will be brief shining moments of glory. For some reason I just REALLY wish Betty had gone there herself to break up with Jug and piece herself back together in the fallout because that would've made a little more narrative sense to me but hey what do I know *cough* ENJOOOY

 

“Are you sure you can’t come here for lunch?” Betty asks, shuffling some folders around the Blue and Gold office. Ever since this whole Black Hood nonsense started nothing feels _clean_. And the office feels hopelessly, despairingly empty without Jug in it.

“Betty,” Jughead sighs over the phone. He’s irritated. Tired. It makes her heart constrict to hear that tone directed at _her_. “I have to maintain _some_ semblance that I actually go to school here.” If it’s possible, even the general laughter behind him seems to mock her mercilessly. “I’ve gotta go, Betty. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up before she can even say goodbye or _I love you_.

Throat constricting in emotion, she lowers the phone from her ear. She doesn’t know _why_ this level of dread’s been hanging over her. Well, she _does_. There’s a serial killer on the loose and her boyfriend keeps pushing her away, even going so far as to transfer schools. He said nothing would change. So why does it already feel like everything has? With dread sitting in her stomach like lead, she flips through the newsroom mail. A large manila envelope with her name in thick black capital letters draws her attention. She’s too depressed to think it’s something cute Jughead would have sent her, so she twirls it in her fingers. It’s off-center, and not particularly heavy. No return address. Maybe it’s just something from one of the teachers. She slides the envelope open, eyes skimming over the two sheets of paper it releases.

By the second sentence, she’s trembling so hard that it becomes difficult to read, to swallow.

It’s the Black Hood.

And he wants _her._

* * *

 

Kevin tries to talk her out of it, that the guy is a psycho, and _clearly_ he is, but she’s running out of time, and he might do something rash if she can’t solve a simple codec. She tries calling Jug again, but the call goes to voicemail. Where _is_ he? He said he’d only be in the Red and Black until 4pm. Heart pounding in her chest, she tries to text him. Nothing. So instead, she goes home, shaking, closing her eyes against the pain of failure. How can she do biochemistry homework and not solve a simple word codec? Irritated, she leans back in her desk, palms at her head to help her focus instead of digging her nails into her palm beds.

_It’s okay, I can do this without Jug._

What if the Black Hood’s taken him?!

She buries her face in her palms, willing herself to calm down. She can’t _think_ if she has all this white noise. Jug's probably fine. He might be busy with his new Southside friends or the paper and hasn’t seen her calls or texts. It’s not a great excuse, but it’s something better than being duct taped in some guy’s basement. Usually his presence is so calming. It brings her clarity, focus, his hand on her shoulder, diverting her racing thoughts.

Her phone vibrates, and she immediately launches for it, reading hungrily.

 

_Hey, sorry for the phone tag. Talk tomorrow? - J_

 

It’s…he doesn’t even want to call her back? Does he think she’s _annoying_ or something? This isn’t tag, it’s just…her…reaching for something (that she may not have anymore). It takes significant effort for her to breathe deeply, literally needing to put her hands on her head and lean back, expanding her chest like they taught in gym class.

_I can do this. With or without him. We can do this, Betty._

He’s probably just busy.

But even in bed, Betty’s eyes swim with swirls, shapes, and letters trying to form, but all she can see is _goodbye_.

 

The next morning she gets up extra early, around 4:30am after waking up every hour or so with nightmares of coded messages and walls closing in, and in the dream she tries to call Jughead, but a shadow keeps whispering, “Signal not available,” like that dark day she found Polly in what was basically a mental asylum. After a few minutes of sitting at her desk, Betty admits that _this_ isn’t working. She shoves her hair in its usual ponytail and decides that maybe just being _around_ Jughead will jog something.

Her fingers hover over her typical collared sweater, then elbow the hanger aside to find something more casual. If her _normal_ self isn’t interesting, maybe he’d prefer her to blend in to his south side sensibilities? The closest thing she can find at short notice is a baseball 3/4 length tee, blue and white, with dark wash jeans and Keds. It’s still simple, still neat, but a little more casual. She hopes it’s enough.

Her heart is pounding pretty steadily in her chest as she approaches his trailer. He didn’t answer his phone, but she figures it’s because he’s never been much of an early riser. Except…when…he used to live in the school, apparently. The thought depresses her, reminding her of a time he’d rather be homeless than talk to her or Archie about what’s going on in her life. It all seems rather cyclical. Blinking, annoyed, she takes a second to pinch her cheeks before working up the courage to knock.

The walls are thin enough that she can hear one pair of feet shuffling. She prepares to face FP, but is pleasantly surprised when Jughead answers the door, beanie in his hand instead of atop his disheveled head.

“Betty? What time is it?” he asks groggily, on the edge of annoyed. The joy in her heart at seeing him safe quickly breezes through, like a balloon someone inflated and let go of almost immediately.

“7:15,” she tries gently, stepping forward when he doesn’t move back. “I wanted to catch you before school.” She leans in for a morning kiss, enjoying the brief peck before sliding past him into the narrow space.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, distractedly closing the door behind her. “I have morning breath. You want coffee or something?”

Her gaze narrows, confused, but she doesn’t sit, too full of energy to do anything else right now. When has he have apologized for a kiss? More like he should be apologizing for lack of enthusiasm at a morning surprise from his girlfriend while his dad’s away. Or…for not calling her back like he promised. But all of that is shoved to the bottom of the priorities pile as he starts the process of pouring cereal and she focuses in on the matter at hand.

“No, I'm actually on my way to the library. I asked Ms. Paroo to set aside all the books she has about cryptograms and ciphers. I thought it might help us crack the Black Hood's code.  Which I'm hoping is something we can do together, Jug.” The words have faded from informative to pleading, bordering on persuasive.

But he hesitates, not turning around. Seriously? Jughead? Not up for cracking a code, hunting a killer? Spending _time_ with her? It’s not the first time she’s seen him in boxers and a t-shirt, but it’s the first time she feels like she’s _imposing_ on him.

Finally, the back of his disheveled head shifts, and he avoids her gaze as he beelines for the small table in his kitchen, cereal bowl in hand. “Um, actually, funny enough, Toni of all people and I, we started working on that yesterday at the Red and Black.” Her heart beats painfully in her chest. _That’s_ where he was yesterday. “I can show you what we've got so far, if you want.”

It’s embarrassingly unconvincing, and she stands there feeling stupid, rejected, and actually a little pissed off. It was obvious when Toni’d walked in on her and Jughead making out in the Red and Black that she’d been _interested_ in his love life. His _technique_ and _type_. But Betty tries not to start a fight, not when they _might_ have something useful and he’s probably already got one foot out the door. “Toni,” she sighs, sliding unbidden into a chair adjacent to his. “Because let me guess—she loves serial killers.”

A dark chuckle escapes his throat, gaze going beyond his cereal bowl in memory. “She does have an affinity for the darker side of things, yeah.”

Her teeth grit against her tongue. Darker than Betty? It’s hard to imagine, given the whole Chuck hot tub debacle. And he seems to _admire_ it in her—Toni, that is. But she suppresses the urge to dig in her nails and sighs, digging deep to find an accommodation.

“In that case, why don't we all work on it together? You, me, Toni, Kevin.” Maybe having Kevin there, someone else who knows the risks, will help. It also might prevent her from leaping across the room and tearing either of their throats out if she incites one more low chuckle like that from Jughead’s throat.

“Kevin?” Jughead asks, dubious, and it’s the first time he’s even glanced at her since she came in.

Hoping her face is arranged in something vaguely enthusiastic, she nods. “Yeah, it'll be like a little code-breaking party.” She wants to scream. Instead she punches him on the arm, hard enough to hear the thump. “So fun! You can host.”

He snorts, glancing at the spot she hit him. “Yeah.” Usually his sardonic remarks and eye rolls are meant for when they’re on a roll, or when Archie is being thick or something. It’s his way of deflecting potentially stressful situations or of taking the other person down a peg. There are _no more pegs_ Betty is willing to give up.

He doesn’t comment on her outfit, nor slide on his beanie. “Okay, well, I have to hop in the shower,” he sighs, pushing away from the table and his empty bowl.

“Oh. Um, do you want me to join you?” she asks, not quite _hopeful_ as he slides past her without a glance. There’s something desperate wanting to cling to him right now, but unable to do anything other than clench her notebooks until they’re indented, angry marks indicating her attempts to retain some semblance of control.

He quirks an eyebrow at her before finishing his lazy saunter to the sink, tossing his bowl and spoon in. “I mean, if you _want._ Not much room in there.”

_If you want?_ The words burrow a bruise in her chest. “I mean, it just seems kind of weird to see you for two minutes when I came all the way over here this morning.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he shrugs, cleaning an ear with his finger before disappearing into the bathroom.

_Is he serious?_

Betty lets the chair shriek against the floor before opening the door to the bathroom, catching him with his shirt over his head, looking a little wary in the confined space.

“What?” he asks, half-naked and a little self-conscious about it. She’s seen him like this before. Not in the harsh light of a 4x6 bathroom with steam shuddering through a nearby spout, but still. Something like defiance building in her chest, she crosses her arms and waits for him to finish undressing. When he shifts, lost, she nods her head for him to continue changing. “Uh, a little privacy?” he asks, fingers in his waistband.

“Why?” she asks, a little harder than he’s probably used to.

“I dunno, it just feels weird,” he shrugs. Swallowing, she looks away with what feels like shame burning on her cheeks. He notices something, _finally_ , and takes a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. “I’m—it’s fine. Just…keep in mind it’s cold in here.” With the awkward agility of a teenage boy, he sheds his boxers, bare body a pale streak as he moves into the cheap shower alcove. The curtain whips closed, and Jughead is just a blurry vision behind a stream of fog. Betty moves forward, trying to regain her composure at the sink. His silhouette moves behind her, smoothing his dark hair from his face. Part of her wants to shed her clothes and seduce him, but every bone in her body is screaming at her that he just wants her to leave. Sniffling against the threat of tears, Betty decides to write him a message in the mirror.

Black Hood Letter? I love you? Betty was here? I need you?

Instead, she settles for a heart with a crown perched atop, the letters BC + JJ etched inside of it. The silence stretching between roars against the sputtering stream behind her. Something aches a little in her chest, this nagging feeling that he’s just waiting for her to leave. Feeling self-conscious, she retreats to the kitchen, absently washing his bowl and spoon and whatever other random glasses she finds, hoping to find comfort in the repetitive task.

“You don’t need to do that,” Jughead mutters from the hallway, rubbing one eye with his hand. Normally the sight of him with sleeked-back wet hair and nothing but a towel around his waist would be enough to make her heart stutter. But all she feels is tense, watching him retreat to the bedroom to grab his clothes.

“I know,” she says softly, drying her hands and placing everything back where it belongs, hoping it will restore some of the normalcy. By the time she follows him to the bedroom he’s already mostly dressed, sliding his beanie atop his head. His face is pale, composed. When she’d surprise them at Archie’s before school, even on his grumpiest days he used to kiss her cheek, throwing a joke before slinging an arm around her, massaging the tension knot in her shoulder. Now he barely even glances at her in the mirror.

“Did you get my message?” she asks, fingers picking at the door frame, feeling weird about going into his bedroom unbidden.

Jughead looks down, as though he’s trying to put together an answer. Lying? “Yeah,” he says finally, shrugging on the rest of his jacket. “Yesterday was just…crazy.”

She meant the note on the mirror, but the reminder of his absence sets her on edge. “Crazy how?”

“Well, Toni and I tried to break the code, and then we went out to get dinner.”

“Pop’s?”

“Is there anywhere else?” Jughead’s laugh gets stuck somewhere within his throat, and he grabs his bag and makes his way towards her, forcing her to back up as they retreat to the living room. Annoyed, she grabs her bag as well.

“Must’ve gotten back late, based on when you texted me back.”

“Yeah, um, we met up with some of her friends for a bit.”

“Serpent friends?”

“Betty,” he sighs, opening the door. “Can we leave it alone? Half of south side is Serpents, the other are Ghoulies. Trust me when I say I’m in the minority of not belonging to either side.”

“I don’t know Jug, with your dad as the Serpent leader, it just kind of feels like you’re _with_ them. If it’s as bad as you say, maybe you should come back to Riverdale High.”

“I’m not going back, Betty,” he argues a little testily.

Betty bites her lip, really wanting to vent. Instead, she settles on, “I need you, Jug. I need you to be safe.”

He takes a shallow, shuddering breath, compassion glimmering somewhere in his blue eyes. “I will be. I am. Don’t worry about me.” His fingers find the back of her ribs before giving her another brief peck. It’s the first time he’s really _touched_ her all morning. “Come on, I’ve gotta go to school.”

Even though she knows they have plenty of time, he doesn’t offer to walk her there. “Should we come over right after school?” she asks hopefully.

“Uh, no, how about 6?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’ll give me and Toni time to work on the Red and Black and maybe get some food—like, snacks, before heading home.”

The metal spiral of her notebook digs painfully into her fingers. “I can bring some snacks.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can find something. Bye, Betty.” His kiss is chaste, distracted, and he leaves her without another word.

It’s a simple, nonthreatening gesture, but he used the word _we_ , and it didn’t include her. Just the south side. Just his new cute best friend. Tonight was going to suck even more than this morning.

* * *

 

Jughead is totally spread out on the couch so no one else can sit on it, unless she wants his feet in her lap or something. Poor Kevin is literally sitting on a crate. There is a chair behind Toni, but since she’s sitting on the floor right in front of it that may be a bit awkward. It’s like she’s laying claim to it or something. Plus, Betty thinks she should be closer to Jug than anyone else…as his girlfriend…right? So she sits cross-legged on the floor next to him, papers strewn everywhere. No snacks are for the group, just a bag of chips at Jughead's elbow, so she assumes the Red and Black kept them _busy_.

Betty’s fingers trace the sheets in front of her, as if somehow muscle memory will kick in and she’ll remember where these icons are from. She feels dizzy from thinking about the codec all day. “These symbols look so familiar to me. It's like I've seen them before and it's driving me crazy. I can't figure out where.” She pushes her hair back, smoothing the top of her head in the hopes the massage will free some repressed thoughts, but it’s a struggle against the ones she _wants_ to keep buried.

The south sider on the floor opposite rolls her eyes. “Maybe if you loosened your ponytail,” Toni says, tilting her head and glaring at Betty’s smooth golden locks. The room stills for a moment, a silent shockwave rippling through it.

_What did she just say?_

Sensing the disturbance in the force, Toni raises her eyebrows. No one says anything. Not even Jughead.

“What? That was a joke, guys,” Toni shrugs, defensive.

Kevin, thankfully, is outraged on Betty’s behalf. He leans towards the pink-haired south sider on the floor in full-on lecture mode. He’s practically seething, “Let me educate this bitch.” What he actually seethes is, “Betty’s ponytail is iconic and beyond reproach.”

She feels Jughead stifle a laugh on the couch behind her, and it slithers down her spine like ice. It’s not like _he_ could be bothered to defend her to his new friend, right? Her eyes flicker graciously to Kevin, resisting the urge to knot her nails into her palm bed. Without turning around, she fists her ponytail, practically cutting it free. “Kev, it’s fine.” _It’s not fine._ “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.” Everyone’s eyebrows raise with her newfound determination. There was something about letting her hair down without the soft edge of her curls that made everyone tense, like she was a cannon about to be unleashed.

_They’re a little afraid of me._

She bites her lip, not sure whether to continue playing nice or unleash the stone cold bitch, as Cheryl would say.

A serial killer is bigger deal than Jughead’s new infatuation, right? The word slithers through her stomach, making her want to retch.

“What do we know about this guy?” Jughead asks, clearing his throat, attempting to refocus the group.

“White guy in his 40’s, like every serial killer ever,” Toni mutters.

Nodding, Jughead rests his elbows on his knees, fingers together as he tries to work out loud. “But what does he want?”

_Me,_ Betty thinks dejectedly. Kevin shares a pointed look with her, hesitant. Even he doesn’t seem to think they should talk about her personal letter in front of Toni…or even Jughead. No one seems very forthcoming. Still biting her lip, Betty looks at Kevin for reassurance and announces, “We know the Hood's obsessed with cleansing the town of sinners and hypocrites, right? And he seems to be attacking anyone with ties to the Northside.”

Toni scoffs. “You North siders and your privilege. All you do is demonize the Southside so of course you think the Black Hood's from there.

_Privilege? Is it a privilege to literally be targeted by a serial killer?_

“It’s not demonizing, Toni. It’s stating facts,” Betty straightens, attempting to keep things remotely civil by recalling what her sister Polly and investigative reporter mother have told her. Maybe Toni should’ve been doing some actual _research_ at the Red and Black instead of making eyes at her _boyfriend_.

Betty’s history with south siders, drugs, and her family is not a pleasant one. They helped _kill_ her pregnant sister’s fiancé and hid the body at the Serpent hideout after promising him a new life for running drugs. Toni wouldn’t know that…not unless Jughead already told her. What _would_ he say about her? Her family? Or does he pretend she barely exists, like he’s been treating her the past few days? Something dark twists in her gut, driving a little more force behind her words. “There’s way more drugs and gangs and-”

“The drugs you mean which were sold primarily to Northside crackheads?” Toni leans forward, challenging her. Betty grits her teeth.

The only people who may have done drugs _got_ them from the south side. From her brief visit to Southside High, she’s pretty sure some of the students there partook in drugs. Not to mention the reputation of trailer park homes right here that were repossessed from drug-users on the south side. The Serpents or Ghoulies or _someone_ from here was trying to recruit drug mules on the North side, at Pop’s no less, right when Jughead reassured her the Serpents coming for a burger was _no big deal._ Betty suppresses the instinct to quote her mother, knowing it’ll only hurt Jughead.

Toni senses her hesitancy and continues, “And what about the Northside Neo-Nazis? The Red Circle? The Red Psychos, you mean.” Toni scoffs again, looking over Betty’s shoulder to Jughead for support. _Don’t you say a word against Archie._ Betty is intent on not breaking eye contact, but through her peripheral all she sees is Jughead kneading his fingers in his palm, most likely that concentrated frown still on his face. Toni leans forward, baiting her. “Hell, Betty, I'm surprised you haven't just come out and said it yet.”

“Said what?” Betty asks, maintaining her cool against the catty behavior.

“That you think the Black Hood's a Serpent.” Her gaze pointedly slicks back over to Jughead. “We all know how much you hate us.”

Jughead jerks forward, a hand out in warning, “Okay, Toni-”

_Oh, THAT’S too far?_

“I don’t hate the Serpents,” Betty protests. And why the hell would she think that? They’re scary drug dealers who helped kill Jason, but she doesn’t really _know_ them. She _just_ got flack for publishing an article _defending_ them!

“Oh, yeah? Then why is it that your boyfriend here lies about the fact that he sits with us at lunch?”

For a moment Betty’s fairly certain that ice trailing down her back earlier has wormed its way into her throat, lodging away any comeback. She looks at Jughead for an answer. His teeth bite into his knuckles. _I’m not a Serpent, Betty,_ he’d assured her at Pop’s. _That’s my father’s life, but it’s not mine._ He’s probably sharpening his fangs right now, embarrassed of his “girl-next-door” girlfriend in front of his new gang friend…side piece…whatever the hell Toni is. He’s been on the south side less than a week and already it’s splintering them apart.

_He’s_ _tearing us apart._

Kevin slowly edges away from the materials on the floor, as if he’s afraid they’ll catch fire any second. “I'm gonna go.”

Toni, sensing that she’s done the damage she can _for now_ , grabs her stuff. Jughead doesn’t have the balls to fight in front of them, and that probably irritates the feisty Serpent. “Yeah, you know what? I'm gonna get outta here, too.”

“Okay. I can walk you home,” Kevin offers, ever the gentleman. Unsurprisingly, Toni scowls at him. He winces, confused, and follows her storm out the door. “Or you can walk me home. Um, bye, guys.”

When the code breaker team leaves, Betty waits for Jughead to sit beside her, still not fully able to meet his gaze. _You lied to me. Again._

Her mother’s words echo in her head. _You should trust him. But not with everything._ _The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…especially with a snake coiled up in it!_ Her eyes glaze over momentarily, wondering just how coiled the snakes are on her boyfriend. When she feels his leg against hers, her attention flickers back on him.

The guilt he swallows as he quietly gestures with hands speaks volumes to her. “Listen, Betty, I sit with the Serpents purely for reasons of survival.”

_Survival. Like what she’s trying to play at with this serial killer. What she shared with him, and he tried to take it and bring it to the first South Sider—the first girl he could get his hands on._

Steadying her breath, not touching or looking at him, she moves some more sheets and pushes her hair out of her face. “It's okay, Jug, let's just keep working on the cipher, okay? The clock's ticking.”

“What clock?” He asks sardonically. “I mean, this could be his laundry list.”

She looks up, aghast that _he_ of all people wouldn’t be more worried about this. “Or his kill list.” Her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth, just about ready to snap.

_No._ She reminds herself, and tears her gaze away from that of her doubtful, wary boyfriend. _No. I can do this. I’m so close._

 

The acute pain in her back is the only thing that makes her move on the couch. She ignores Jughead’s ambivalent eating next to her. She has to get this right.

The stinging in her eyes is only compounded by the desire not to look at her boyfriend right now.

When he gets up for his third drink of the night she glances up. “Do you have any coffee or tea or anything?”

“We have water,” he sighs, trudging through the kitchen. When she visited this morning, everything was strewn about on the counters. It reminded her of the first time she visited FP. Jughead had been so embarrassed about the state of place. _I wonder why it doesn’t bother him now_ , she wonders, briefly pressing her lips together as she watches him lean against the counter during his pour. How did he have money for as much food as he consumes but not coffee?

They sip in relative silence, occasionally permeated by a question without any real answer. She notices Jughead has started scanning his laptop. Wikis about serial killers.

She shifts again in the hopes it’ll keep her sharp. Her pen in one hand, a pamphlet in the other, she tries another language. Aztecs? Anything? What’s connected to Riverdale or sinners? Or her, for that matter? It has to have some special connection to _her_.

“Hey, scoot over,” Jughead says quietly, and she shifts automatically without meeting his gaze.

_Guess he’s slithered his way back into my arms,_ she thinks to herself, leaning back into his comforting embrace. No, that was her mother’s voice. Betty’s head rests on his shoulder, and she closes her eyes to try and get her own voice back.

It doesn’t feel the same, the Blossom case and the Black Hood. Before, it was running _to_ people, investigating. Her sister Polly was missing and she was able to find different clues just by searching checkbooks and locations. Jason was the only murder victim, and there wasn’t any strong fear of more to come. With this guy, he wanted to play with her…with the whole town, leaving them a blood trail.

“What do you think of the whole Red Circle thing?” Jughead asks softly. She hadn’t even been aware of the video playing in the background.

Stifling a yawn, she shakes her head. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, Jug.”

Drifting, her heart tugs at the memory of them in Pop’s again. _I don’t want you to get hurt. Or to hurt someone else. But that’s the Serpent way of life, isn’t it?_

“Archie always gets jacked up on this justice binge, especially since his dad got shot,” Jughead sighs, moving his arm around her waist. “But now he’s got this south side killer idea in his mind and he has no idea what he’s dealing with.”

_Do you?_ she wants to ask, but still doesn’t want to open her eyes, doesn’t want to see her boyfriend ignoring her or the red-haired boy next door threatening to keep the streets safe with more violence. “He’ll feel better when the killer’s caught. The guy could be coming for his Dad again, Jug,” she murmurs into his neck. “You know what that’s like.”

Her ears pressed against his skin, she senses his heartbeat increase. She hears the click of the laptop closing, and soon feels the warm embrace of his arms.

“They always come for the ones you love.”

* * *

 

For once, she doesn’t dream of the cipher. She dreams of a snake coiling around her body, sinking its teeth in her skin. When she shakes it off, Jughead approaches, still groggy like the morning before. “What are you afraid of?” he asks impassively, picking up the snake in one hand.

“Jug, don’t—!” she cries, hands leaving her bruised body to stop him.

But he kisses the snake, her blood flickering on its tongue. The paralysis starts to set in, and she watches Jughead calmly wrap the snake around himself, letting her fall.

She shoots awake, vaguely aware of a warmth behind her. The blood orange glow of the room from last night has been replaced with rays of the morning light. Everything in her goes rigid, even as Jughead stirs beside her.

What time is it?! Her phone. Where the hell is her phone?

_Mom’s going to kill me—if the Black Hood doesn’t._

“Ugh, what is it?” Jughead moans, wiping the little bit of drool from his mouth.

On all fours, she scampers off the couch, frantically gathering her things “We fell asleep. How did we fall asleep?”

“Exhaustion,” he mutters from the couch, covering his head, “It’s not easy being us.”

Her gaze quickly catches her turquoise case - _if only I could crack codes this fast_ \- and she dives onto it on her stomach to quickly see how many times Alice has called.

_14 messages._

Her mouth falls open. “Oh, my god, she's gonna kill me.” She turns, expecting Jughead to fear her mother bursting through the door any second. He just rolls over onto his back, their spooning session forgotten.

“I have to go,” she emphasizes, grabbing her things and stuffing whatever she can into her backpack.

Jughead’s eyes still aren’t open.“What?”

”My mom, she's gonna kill me. I have to go, okay? I'll call you later.”

He moans what she thinks is understanding, and leans back on her heels, contemplating kissing him one more time before she leaves. But he doesn’t stir, and she remembers him complaining he had bad breath this morning when she tried to kiss him hello.

_Maybe that’s just not something we do,_ she dimly realizes, _anymore._

* * *

 

Her phone buzzes, and she’s surprised that it’s actually him. She’s been buried in codec stuff all evening, except for getting a _lengthy_ chewing out from her mother. Her room was ransacked for condoms, and when she didn’t find any, insisted Betty was going on the pill. Just another joy of having a teen pregnancy in the family.

“Jughead,” she sighs, answering quickly. “Hi. My mom’s out at the town hall meeting tonight, which is the _only_ reason I still have my cell phone. What’s going on?”

“So you’re grounded until the end of time?” His clipped voice seems more sardonic than usual as of late, so it’s hard to tell if he’s actually being funny or mean.

“Yeah, I am, but she’s not here,” her voice trembles only slightly, as does her pen.

“Can I drop by? Tonight?”

“Um, sure,” she says, fidgeting with her backpack. Something’s missing.

 

* * *

 

“Hi,” she smiles. Her attempts to be polite get her pretty much nowhere, as Jughead just walks past her into her living room. _Okay._

Anxious energy is the only thing keeping her nice girl smile in place when she increases her pace to beat him to the couch, ignoring the thunder behind them.

He reaches into his pack, dragging out some of the scattered research from last night. “When you left this morning, you forgot some of your books. Your notebooks.” Her hands accept them automatically, her eyes still trying to keep track of the line she was on before he arrived. He pauses, glaring at her. “Look, I wasn't snooping, believe it or not, but it just fell out.”

_Sure, you weren’t_.

“What did?” she asks distrustingly.

As if it’s a piece of evidence condemning the guilty party, he presents her a sheet from the inside of his jacket. “Your letter, from the Black Hood.”

She has to fight the sigh, her anger disintegrating along with her sanity. “Jug,” she says softly, turning away from him as she snatches the letter.

“I'm assuming that it came with the cipher.” Incredulous, he raises his arms halfway, ton between gesturing and throwing something. “Betty, why haven't you told anybody?”

“I—I did, I told Kevin.”

His voice catches, halfway between a whine and a plea. “Why didn't you tell _me_?”

Something coils in her stomach. It’s not the darkness. It’s-it’s something else that needs to be pushed way down before it pours from her and scares him away. Can he really not see it? Not see the pain etched on her face like the scars on her palms?

“Because you've been,” the coil wraps itself tighter on her stomach. _Mean. Distant. With that girl…pushing me away._ “At Southside High, running around with the Serpents,” she finishes lamely.

“Betty, I'd been gone for two days.” His voice is laced with anger. “And yeah, it sucks that we don't go to the same school anymore.” Pacing, she just wants to get away from it…from this discussion. He could ghost on her again for all she knows. He anxiety threads tighter as he gestures at her. “But that's not the reason you're sitting on the fact that the Black Hood has sent you a letter. So why is it?!”

“Because of what it says, Jughead!” she snaps, eyes wide, feeling like the words are bleeding out of her. He pauses, stunned. “Because of what he wrote.” She searches him for any inkling of understanding. He waits, borderline patient. She continues, barely in a whisper, tears pricking her eyes. _I did it. I might as well have done it._ “That I inspired him. I inspired all of this…madness.”

“You think people are gonna blame you for this?” he asks, stepping closer, already accusatory.

_I wish…I wish you could understand what it’s like._ The storm thunders on behind them.

“Not people, just one person.”

His eyes narrow. “Archie?”

She doesn’t know what to say. People responded negatively to one article she wrote and Jughead transferred schools, bailing on them within hours. What is _this_ going to do to their relationship? With everything _else_ going on, she barely even had time to worry about Archie, who was also on edge. She could lose her boyfriend and her best friend…

_I’ve already lost them_ , she thinks, _one to the killer and one to a gang who kills._ Dread bubbles in her throat. She physically tears herself away and sits on the couch in silence to collect her thoughts.

Jughead stands for a second, confused. Assuming his intuition was correct, he perches on the chair opposite her. “For what? For writing a speech that this lunatic has twisted around in order to mess with you and mess with the town? Yeah, Archie's definitely shook, but he knows who the bad guys are, and you're not one of the bad guys.”

She can’t look at him.

_There’s a darkness in me…_

He shifts to the seat next to her, putting his hand awkwardly in the middle of the back. “You’re Betty Cooper. Like Nancy Drew meets Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.”

_Nancy Drew would never survive Riverdale._

“Oh my god,” she starts, standing up.

He’s looking up, confused, maybe still inspired by his speech. “What?”

She takes the letter from his hands, bringing it to her stomach, hoping to quiet the tension in there. “In his letter, the Black Hood said that I'm the only one who could solve the cipher like he created it specifically for me.” Jughead studies her, trying to catch up, slowly rising to be close to her again. Her heart flutters with anticipation. _We can do this._ “Maybe using one of my touchstones, Jug.” She licks her lips, trying to embrace the clarity. Jughead stays quiet, watching her wheels turn. “If I'm right, I think I know how to decode this. Let's go.”

They run into the night, the truth just out of reach.

* * *

 

It was unclear whether her parents were impressed or annoyed she decoded the cipher with a Nancy Drew handbook. She felt at least a little better that she’d done it _with_ Jughead. Even though they’d both been reamed out by their parents, she felt like they were _together again_. But there was no kiss goodbye, no reassuring hand squeeze. Just a quiet understanding that the next mystery remained unsolved. So when she was sitting, contemplative, in her room, an unknown number lighting up her phone wasn’t so unexpected. Thinking it might be Jughead, she answered, only to be haunted by a synthesized voice promising her trials had only begun and her sister Polly was his bargaining chip.

“If you tell the police we've spoken or your mystery-loving boyfriend I'll carve her like a Jack O’Lantern."

Fear grips her, desperation leaking out through her eyes and throat, “Please, don't hurt her!”

The door opening makes her instantly slam the phone off.

“Who was that?” Alice asks, carrying a handful of pink linens. “I bet it was Jughead.”

Her throat still clogged with what feels like failure, she croaks, “Yeah,” looking away. _Why can’t anyone tell what’s wrong?_

It’s just become easier…to lie. It doesn’t even register that her mother assumes when she’s crying on the phone it’s because of her boyfriend.

_A nice girl always says yes when she’s asked if she’s fine. But good girls don’t lie, do they? And they don’t inspire serial killers._

“You know, I gave him the benefit of the doubt,” continues Alice, irritated and vaguely aware of her daughter’s hollow tone, “but now that he's living on the South side amongst those criminals and degenerates, he's showing his true colors.” Her gaze rakes her a little more carefully, aware that Betty isn’t putting up the usual fight. “No doubt, inspiring that stunt of yours at Town Hall. Pulling the fire alarm?”

Betty rolls over, trying to squeeze out the pain she’s feeling inside. “I didn't know what else to do.”

_I still don’t know what to do. Please. Help me._

“Given the letter that the Black Hood sent me.”

“If he even wrote it,” Alice scoffs, unable to see her daughter flinch through the new sheets she’s laying over her. Betty feels like she’s on the table at the morgue, just waiting to be shut into a vault, surrounded by these deaths forever.

The sheets aren’t right. Alice reshuffles them with a pinched expression on her face. “Sheriff Keller said something seems off. He's gonna have it analyzed, along with the one that I got. In the meantime, I want you home straight after school.”

Betty lays still, her heart racing.

“Are we clear?” Alice repeats, irritated.

“Yeah. Sorry, Mom.”

Betty rolls over, not even upset if her mother wants to helicopter and stay the night. Her mother is right. This change…everyone will be showing their true colors. But what were hers? And why was he targeting her family?

And Jughead…

_Polly doesn’t even love you_ , a piece of her whispered. _But you won’t tell Jughead about this anyway, will you? Because this is about your inspiration. You inspire people to run away. To punish the wicked._

_No,_ she whispered fiercely to herself. _But I will tell someone. This is bigger than me. And I’m going to fight it._

She resolves to wake up early and find Archie tomorrow morning. The Black Hood may not like Jughead, but he didn’t say anything about her best friend and vigilante.

Now that she thinks about it, that is kind of weird…

_It’s because Jughead’s a sinner…isn’t he?_ the darkness whispers.  _And if you stay with him, you’ll be one too._


	2. Lay down and take it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Hood demands sacrifices, starting with Veronica Lodge, but Betty knows what comes next. After a brief moment of reprieve, everything starts spiraling worse than anything she could have expected.

The heaviness feels a little lighter with Archie. He trusts her. He understands the appeal of collaborating with a murderer to peel back every layer. Archie’s really just happy to be on the investigative side of things, she thinks. Before, it was just her and Jughead, and they probably weren’t too nice about him not being the brightest or subtlest of the group. Now that his dad is involved, though, Archie’s shown a lot more dedication. But it’s almost like the Black Hood is abusing them and their thirst for vengeance, the truth. Betty wants the truth so badly it hurts. _Justice_ , she hisses to herself, adapting to the darkness she’s hiding within.

It’s one thing to publish a true record about her mom, another Cooper secret kept buried. Alice Cooper was a Serpent. It’s almost comforting, in some weird way, that she has something in common with Jughead. But really the resurfacing of her dirty secret has her mother screaming in tears.

“Every time you don’t answer the phone, I’m afraid that you’re _dead._ And you make me out to be a _monster!_ ” Alice’s fist slams the table, shaking Betty out of her stunned reverie. Her father shakes his head, going to comfort Alice.

“It’s better that she knows,” Hal murmurs softly, face impassive. His body turns stiffly, going through the motions. “But I am disappointed in you, Betty. Go to your room.”

It’s possibly the least safe place for her anymore. That’s where he keeps calling her. How does he even _know_ when she’s alone?

Everything’s just…spiraling…and her little clues have barely helped so far. She can only do so much to protect Polly.

But The Black Hood calls again, asks her to get rid of her friends. He’s selfish. He wants her to himself. The thought makes her want to curl up into a ball and die.

“Let’s start with Veronica Lodge…”

“She’s not…” Betty’s voice catches in her throat. “Veronica is innocent!”

“Oh Betty, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

And she doesn’t. She really doesn’t. But what really quiets her is the word “start,” because she knows who’s next.

 

* * *

 

Everything feels cold inside. She doesn’t even hear the ring of the door, but the sound of his relieved sigh and little chuckle does tug her attention away from the heaviness settling within her.

“Betty Cooper.” She turns, amazed he’s still real. There he is. She stays still, still thawing in the actual _happiness_ she feels. She’s missed him. In the midst of the madness of the past week, _he_ reached out to _her._ It wasn't the bubblegum horror ringing her, it was her boyfriend for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Chuckling, he glances down and back up again, practically beaming at her. He looks almost as tired as her. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” 

All of a sudden she’s hungry, she’s so terribly sad and happy and finds herself moving towards him, floating towards something safe. The distance between them evaporates. Her hands reach out and cusp his face even as he mumbles gratefully, “Thanks for coming to meet me.” Their lips collide before he can say anything else, and she holds him tightly against her.

_I love you._

Tears threaten to spring, but she doesn’t have the energy to keep them at bay.

_I love you. I love you, Jughead Jones. Stay with me. Just…let me have this._

It’s like they haven’t seen each other in years, but she can’t help it. This is the first bit of real relief she’s had to herself, to share, in days.

_I don’t want to let go._

Neither does he. His hands grip tightly into her hips, as if that will replenish his strength. When their lips finally part, he lets out a shaky sigh that almost makes her want to go on tip-toe and kiss him again. Nearly whimpering, he takes her hands in his. “God, I've missed you, I just I'm feeling…I don't know, unmoored,” he sighs, sliding into the booth across from her. Part of her realizes this distance is good.

Last time they were here for something like this he’d been at her side, kissing her nail-bitten palms and nuzzling. This will be better. A little distance, just to make it easier. But she’s still not sure why he wouldn’t _choose_ to sit next to her. Maybe he’s creating distance for his own reasons.

_I love you,_ she wants to whisper again, but instead drags her gaze upwards, almost light-headed. “Me too.” Her eyes drift over him, her weary rebel without a cause. He looks a little worse for the wear. The south side might be tearing him apart, too.

_Maybe…I could tell him._

Jughead meets her eyes, those stormy blues grazing over her.

“I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

Immediately her shoulders stiffen, and she wills herself to relax. “What do you mean?”

His eyes search hers a little more carefully, his hands vaguely grazing upwards. ”That exposé…that you published about your mom, that article.” He’s asking if she’s okay. If her mom has killed her yet.

_Not yet. Although I’ve become sort of numb to it all so I don’t think I’d notice if she did._

Betty wants him to ask about the Black Hood, but doesn’t think she can lie to his face.

She settles for feeling relieved that it’s not even on his radar. “Oh, um, that's a long story, but yeah, pretty intense.” Determined to avoid it, she gestures to him with her chin, fingering his bandages lightly. “What happened to your hand?”

He pauses, and she almost doesn’t have the energy to care if he’s making it up right now.

_Just a few hours left of him…I want to enjoy it._

“I’m dog-sitting. You remember Hot Dog, that mutt? Don't worry, he's got the shots.”

She’s pretty sure she manages a smile at his joke. Their fingers interlace, hers on top of his.

_This. This is all I want. To keep you safe. But I can’t make you happy._

Her phone sits on the table next to her elbow, ready to detonate every relationship in her life, including the one that makes her feel steady.

Jughead’s thumb traces over her skin in slow, steady circles. She can feel it building within him, the ache to take away the pain, the guilt. Her eyes finally flicker up to his.

_I’m sorry._

“I wish we could just go,” he says, voice broken. She purses her lips, knowing anything she says will be wrong for so many reasons. His eyes finally drag up from their hands to meet hers, unabashedly raw when he pleads, “Just hop on the motorcycle and just leave Riverdale. Go someplace where there's no Northside, or Southside, or Serpents, Ghoulies.”

Instinctively, she tightens her grip on his hands, but suppresses the urge to cry or dig her nails in to his injured hand.

_You have to be an anchor, Betty. You have to be strong for the both of you._

“No,” she chuckles, burying a cry with a pause, “Crazy moms, no Black Hoods.”

Sniffling, she swallows, and feels Jughead searching her face for a clue. His cheek twitches in an attempted smile.

But she can’t suppress everything. A single tear streaks down her face as she says softly, earnestly, “Like Romeo and Juliet, but we live happily ever after instead.”

_I wanted us to make it…but we both know that one of us is going to die. I just hope it’s me, Jug._

As the tears and sniffles continue to slide down her face, Jughead trembles in her hands, unsure what to say.

He can’t say everything will be all right, because he knows it’s not.

They wouldn’t even get their one night of passion like Romeo and Juliet. The Serpents had taken that from them, too.

The aching rift in Betty continues to grow, until her throat screams with dehydration from the tears. Jughead’s more of a dry crier, sobs and sighs and trembling lips.

Part of her wants to reach up and touch that trembling lip, but then her hands would have to leave his. They sit quietly for a few more minutes.

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he whispers, throat raw, wet eyes.

“And I love you Jughead Jones.”

_But I can’t follow you on this path you’ve made. And you can’t follow me on mine._

They cry in the booth quietly for a few minutes. She senses Jughead shake his head at Pop at one point, who quietly steps back and leaves them for a few more minutes.

“The least I can do is buy you a milkshake,” he sighs, his thumbs rubbing over her knuckles again.

“Jughead…” she starts, but isn’t sure how to finish it.

He barely eats anything, and visibly deflates when he gets a few texts in rapid succession. She can’t help but think, “It could be worse.” When they go outside, she stands perfectly still, aware of what’s stashed in the bag on his motorcycle, waiting for him. Her face feels different, stinging with tears. She’s been scrubbed raw, and so has he, rubbing his face on his arm every so often to avoid the wetness staining his cheeks. They’ve barely spoken at all except to reminisce. “Remember the time you and Archie heard a boy from another class pulled my hair?” He vaguely tilts his head towards her, hand in hers.

Without smiling, she continues. “I knew whatever you two were planning would get you into trouble, so instead, I pretended I liked him and lured him into a closet. You were so mad, but when I came out and he was locked in, I told you I did it to protect you. I didn’t want you or Archie to get hurt.”

“Betty—“

“I still don’t. I—I love you, Jug,” she sobs, wiping her face on the back of her fist.

He takes her fist and pushes it aside, cupping her face with his other hand. “Hey. I’m…going to be fine,” he promises, not sounding so sure himself. “And so are you. I know it’s a tough time right now but we both—we need to be brave right now.”

“I can be brave when I know you’ll be safe.” She swallows, trying to take all of him in, one last time. The dark curls peeking out from under his beanie. The moles sprinkled across his face like constellations. The stormy blue eyes that fade to grey when he’s tired. Even those recesses under his eyes that deepen under stress. But there’s still kindness in his face. Still compassion. She purses her lips, trying to reach him one last time. “There are dangerous people out there Jughead…and I don’t want you to become one of them,” she whispers.

“I know.” He squeezes her hand tightly, and she can’t help but think of his injured right hand. She wonders if he’ll ever write again…or if the story of Jason Blossom and Riverdale will die with the newspapers and his leather jacket.

“Are you…going to be okay, Betts?” he asks, tentatively meeting her gaze, as if he’s afraid what he’ll find there.

“Don't go yet,” she says, slightly desperate, drawing him closer so they’re face to face. His lips graze her brow, pushing back nonexistent stray hairs.

“I want to stay more than I want to go,” he sighs shakily, practically trembling in her embrace. They stay that way, frozen for a few seconds, finding it hard to meet each other’s gaze.

“Should we do it, Jug?” she asks hollowly, glancing at his motorcycle. “Should we just…run away?”

Swallowing hard, he presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I want this, so bad.”

_But I can’t_ , she finishes for him in her head. What about Polly? What about her parents? The Black Hood will kill them too if she runs away.

A phone vibrates against her stomach, and she knows their time is over. Whether it’s his or hers, it’s over.

They shift, leaving the embrace, and Betty feels numbness creeping back in.

“Betts?” he asks, questioning.

She shakes her head, wiping her cheeks. “I’ll be fine.”

_Fine. That’s what nice girls say._

She watches her Romeo mount his steed, his slim body paler in the sunlight. And she can’t help but mumble what she remembers of Romeo and Juliet’s last meeting, their deadly premonition, “Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.”

Whether or not he hears her, he feels her gaze, and turns once again with a heavy brow.

_I’ll miss that face._

A tear sliding down her cheek, she makes a wish on her charm necklace.

_“Be fickle, fortune, For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.”_

Her eyes close against the tears, and when she opens them her boyfriend is gone, and something in her heart shatters.

* * *

 

Veronica’s party is like a bad, slow-paced, movie, and Betty really just wants to shove her face in the freezer until all of it is over.

“Who’s up for some jingle-jangle?” Nick, her snobby friend practically shouts. He’s noisy and rude. He reminds her a lot of Chuck, honestly, and she can barely contain her blatant dislike of him. But this is important to Veronica, so she’s _here_ watching her friends make bad decisions for the sake of having fun.

_Why bother? You have to leave her behind anyway. You’ll have to leave them all behind. They’re “sinners,” remember?_

No one, not even Kevin, comments on her growing disdain for the party. He, too, is charmed by this bougie city-slicker. This snake. Like a serpent.

Shifting, Betty just hopes her numbness fully kicks in before they get too out of hand. Vaguely, she’s aware of Archie quickly jumping in and agreeing to take the upper to avoid his girlfriend having alone time with the skeeze. She rolls her eyes.

“Betty?” Veronica sing-songs, shaking the pixie stick. “You want some?”

“No.” The brunette opens her mouth to ask again. “I said _no._ ” Veronica flinches at Betty’s snap.

“Okay, Betts, it’s on a strictly voluntary basis. Bottom’s up!”

Her friends all tilt their pixie sticks back into their throats, swallowing, nervously awaiting whatever stupid side effects would kick in. Suddenly, Betty _hates_ them.

Those drugs came from the Serpents. Or the Ghoulies. Or whatever stupid gang works those things anyway. The Pussycats giggle, hands in each other’s hair, rolling with whatever makes them feel free. Cheryl, Kevin, and Reggie start gyrating to themselves off in the corner, and Veronica and Archie are practically in heat, doing something that can’t quite be described as dancing. It makes her heart ache to see them so happy. Jughead would stay with her. He wouldn’t do drugs, not after seeing how alcohol affected FP. Normally she would get up and dance with Kevin to avoid the awkwardness of being the only sober one, but everything in her heart feels so heavy she thinks if she moves she might throw up.

Veronica, sensing despondence, stumbles over. “Come on Betty, don’t be such a wallflower. So you’re boyfriendless for a night. Have some fun!”

_I’m boyfriendless for the rest of my LIFE._ Betty wants to shout, pulling her wrists away from Veronica’s insistent grab. Instead, she narrows her eyes at her friend. “Like you, you mean?” Veronica steps back, confused.

_Now or never. She probably is complicit in her daddy’s dealings, and that’s why we’re here in the first place. To court some ass her dad needs to kiss._

Betty raises her voice, just enough so she’s not crying. “I was gonna say you're making a fool of yourself. Acting like some privileged, shallow, airhead party girl.”

Looking around to see if this is an illusion, a side effect of the drugs, Veronica chuckles. “Excuse me?”

Setting her jaw, Betty stands with her feet wide apart. “Yeah. I mean, it's all recycled banter and plunging necklines and throwing shade to distract us all from the fact that there's really nothing going on underneath,” her throat is closing, she needs a second. 

“Betty, what the hell are you saying?”

“What we're all thinking,” she shrugs, gesturing to the quieting party around her, her wide-eyed friends. Former friends. “That the only reason Veronica hangs out with us is circumstance. She's not our friend. The minute someone from her trashy past shows up, she starts using us for drugs or music or distraction, and why should we be surprised? Like father, like daughter, right?”

_The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, especially when there’s a snake coiled in it._

Veronica is clearly hurt, steely-eyed, and for a moment Betty wants to come forward and hug her. “You better shut it down, Betty.”

But the guilty expression on Veronica’s face makes her move forward to attack instead. She has to shut it _all_ down, before the Black Hood does it for her. “Or what, Veronica? You'll have your dad put a hit on me? Or maybe you'll do it yourself, because you may have fooled all of them, but not me.” Everyone avoids her gaze, wilting under the shade she’s throwing. “Try to reform all you want, but you're a bad person, Veronica. You'll always be a bad person.”

_You’ll always be a bad person. You’ll always be made of darkness._

Archie stares, open-mouthed, trying to put together the pieces. At some point he nudges Veronica to say something. Arms crossed, she shrugs, not about to kill her buzz. “Why don't you just go, then, if I'm such a monster?”

Betty thinks about it for a second, but decides that argument should be enough for tonight. And it is, for her…but not for the Black Mask.

 

Sitting at the bus stop, tears streaking down her face, she’s not even phased when the ringback tone chirps into the night. He wants Jughead on a platter. The Southside Serpent scum, he says. And she’s not even sure she can defend against that.

“No,” is the only sob that wracks her throat.

_“Cut him out of your life, or I will.”_

Part of her wishes he’d just cut her down instead.

 

* * *

 

Bleary-eyed and sick with worry, Betty stands before Jughead’s trailer. This is no defense from a home invader…from a murderer…even one with as terrible aim as the Black Hood.

“Betty?” she hears, and Jughead appears, wide-eyed and half-dressed through his window screen.

_So I have seen him again. Already better than Romeo and Juliet, right? But Juliet never had to break up with Romeo._

She clutches her arms around her sides, willing to hold herself together as he comes out down the stairs to meet her. A white undershirt clings to his lean muscle, but her eyes are more drawn to his face, the bags under his eyes even deeper set than she remembers. It’s only going to get worse. He only wears his undershirt when he’s protecting his precious tees from something really dirty like laying concrete with Archie. Her chest tightens when she thinks of why he’s like that—especially without her. Clearly he was waiting for someone if he’s been looking out the window like this.

“Betty—what are you doing here? You can’t be here right now,” he panics, glancing around the park, arm already out to steer her away.

The dryness makes her saliva feels like paste in her mouth. “Why?” she croaks, already half-aware of the shadows creeping upon the side of his trailer.

“Well well well, what’s this?” a tall Serpent asks, eyeing her a little meanly. Betty’s ponytail hangs low, so it doesn’t have its normal swing when she turns her head to face him, vaguely aware that Jughead has removed his guiding hand from her shoulder.

Instead, Jughead’s hand goes out protectively, as if keeping them apart in a fight. “It’s fine, Sweet Pea, she’s just leaving.”

“She your girlfriend, Jug? Here to cheer you on during the final initiation?” A rock trembles through her insides, and she fights against doubling over. Jughead shoots her a guilty glance.“Looks like the cheerleader type,” the one known as Sweet Pea sneers, glancing back at the rest of the gang.

“She _is_.”No one misses Toni’s derogatory, jealous tone.

They laugh at her, leer at her, but it’s all just noise.

“Initiation, Jug?” Betty mutters, big wet eyes turning to his. His entire body tenses, shrugging and glancing back and forth between her and the gang. He’s always been bad with tension. Jittery.

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes, impatient. “So what’ll it be? You in or you out?”

Betty doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to respond. Her fists are thankfully concealed by her folded arms as she works the pressure out on her palms.

_Not that he’d notice…_

“Jug, like I said last night, if you’re going to back out, now’s the time,” Toni offers gently.

Another flash of pain, muted by the blood in her palms. “Last night?” Betty repeats, rocking on her heels.

For a writer, Jughead seems completely lost for words. He stutters, “Uh…ah, guys, I just need to say goodbye to Betty.”

“I’m not leaving.” The words come out faster, harder than she expects.

“ _You’re supposed to break up with him!”_ her mind screams at her. _“It doesn’t matter!”_ her heart screams back.

“Betty,” Jughead warns softly, his hands going to her shoulders to steer her away from his leather-clad friends. “You can’t be here for this.”

Determination bubbles up within her, heels sinking in to the ground to brace for a fight— _the_ fight. “You said you weren’t going to join them, Jug.”

“I’m doing this for—“ he glances over his shoulder at his new friends. “This is my life now. We can talk about it later.”

“No. You’ve been doing this for days, haven’t you? They said this is the _last step_ , meaning there were _other_ steps,” Betty snaps, slicing the air with her hands. “And you _lied_ to me!”

Jughead snatches her hands mid-air, ignoring the wince from her welts being grabbed so hard. “Betty, I’m not a North-sider anymore! I don’t live by their rules! I’m _from_ here! This is my life! This is my home! And these…are my friends,” Jughead breathes, releasing one hand to gesture to the smirking crew behind them. His gaze narrows on her accusatorially. “You said you’d support me, Betty.”

“Yeah, in finding yourself! Not throwing away your life!”

“The south side _is_ my life, Betty! I’m _from_ here, remember? And I’m not going to throw that away because of some Cooper agenda!” Jughead snaps, surprising her. “I’m not some cookie-cutter boyfriend Betty! Life is _hard_. It’s not all milkshakes and angsty pop songs like you and Archie would love to believe. Being part of the Serpents means being part of something _bigger_ than that!”

Swallowing the anger building in her throat, Betty searches his eyes for a trace of the investigator. But he’s all fury and indignant accusations now. How can someone so intelligent be so incredibly reckless?

“What? So you can play the part of the gangster? This isn’t a _game_ , Jug! This is serious! This is drug-running, violence, and leather! You’ll be fighting people—people like Archie, people who were your friends!”

“Is that what you think of us?” Jughead seethes, tension rippling in his shoulders. She flinches at the use of the word “Us.” The Serpents straighten a bit at that, closing in around her.

“Is that what you think of my father?” Jughead growls, stepping closer, as if _she’s_ the one he’s about to fight. She’ll _give_ him a fight, especially if he’s going to throw away the life she’s saving for him.

Planting her stance, she stares him down. “You mean the guy who dumped Jason Blossom’s body in a freezer? Yeah. That’s the one. Instead of _solving_ murders, you’ll be covering them up! How long ’til you’re in jail or on the run?”

The change in him is subtle, but she can see him flip the switch behind his eyes. He’s practically steaming shame and anger out of his ears. “It’s not like that, Betty.”

“Then what’s it like, Jughead? Enlighten me! Because from what I’ve seen of the Serpents, all they’ve done is _leave._ ” She can feel a cold coil tightening around her heart. “Your dad is in _jail_. Joaquin is god-knows-where. Where are you going to be Jughead?!”

“I’m right here!” he shouts, fist curled, Serpents closing in on them.

“For how long? You talk about _loyalty_ —you haven’t even been able to return a _phone call!_ The Black Hood is better at keeping in touch! God—Archie was right—it’s like I don’t even know you—” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it.Jughead’s eyes widen and narrow in rage, not even understanding her own cry for help.

“Shut the hell up, Betty!”

It feels like a slap. He’s _never_ somewhat cursed at her before. Wide eyes, her mouth falls open. His gaze stutters, almost looking for a way to escape. The judgment of his gang hovers around them. “You don’t know anything about me. And neither does Archie. You guys can only think about yourselves…and the sad thing is, I never expected anything else.” She’s not sure if she’s still breathing, stunned by his accusatory glare. It’s like a knife was plunged into their relationship, and the only way to get it out was to slice it open with their bare hands. The Black Hood wanted Jughead cut out of her life. Here it is, the moment he’s been waiting for, but Betty is still reeling. It doesn’t feel real yet.

He can’t—be _gone_.

Jughead turns his back on her, entire body stiff with determination. “Come on guys, let’s get this over with.”

“No, Jug. Please…don’t leave,“ she tries, swallowing emotion.

He doesn’t turn around. His shoulders are rigid with determination, and although she can picture the fierce look on his face, he won’t grace her with it.

Sweet Pea smirks at Betty and turns with a head nod to leave her behind. Toni eyes her with trace amounts of sympathy, stuffing her hands into her leather jacket and following behind.

_I don’t need your pity,_ Betty hisses in her head.

Counting to thirty, Betty uses her Nancy Drew skills to quietly track them, trying to keep her tear-glazed eyes dry enough to keep them in focus. They don’t go too far. Oddly enough, they’re behind the park, right by Sweetwater River. Just as Betty is trying to work out if Jughead is seriously going to become the next murder or kidnapping victim, she sees the Serpents crowd around Jughead in a circle, each of them reciting some kind of code back at each other.

Shaking her head, Betty half-wishes she could barter her boyfriend’s protection up to keeping him out of the Serpents. But this—this feels like the only thing she _can_ _do_ right now. The plan was to tell him they needed to pretend to break up because of her parents. The way he’s been pushing her away, she knows that if she gave him the chance, he wouldn’t want to come back. But this—watching his fierce, determined eyes as he makes deals with the people who wiped up Jason’s blood—this makes her sick.

_Who am I kidding? I’m making deals of my own._

Betty perches in the grass nearby, and no one notices her as they break from the circle, sending Jughead away as they prepare.

_Is that it?_ she wonders. They shout at each other and slap their shoulders? But then they start to align in two rows, the one called Sweet Pea wrapping his knuckles in brass rings.

“No,” she says out loud, horrified that this is even a _consideration_. Would Jughead be so desperate to be close to his father that he’d endure _this_?

Jughead’s too in his own head to notice her. She wants to run down and throw herself at him full force, wrenching him away from these people who want to hurt him, who think it’ll keep him safe. She wants to whisper to him, “You belong with me! I would never hurt you! I will _never_ hurt you again!” But she knows it’s a lie, and that breaks her heart all the more. He’d probably just throw her to the side and call her a humiliation—a vanilla milkshake gone bad.

She flexes her palm, debating whether or not to call the police. That might save him. He’ll be mad, he’ll break up with her—if he hasn’t already—but he’ll be _safe_.

Her breath hitches as Jughead turns around, his neck extended backward for a moment as if he’s waiting for the guillotine to drop from the sky. His first step forward incites the first punch from the side. It feels like she’s being punched too, and as he keeps taking the hits, she feels a tightening around her throat. Sobs wriggle up through her, watching the blood spatter across his shirt. Fumbling for her phone, she realizes it’s too late to call the police, but it’s not too late to do something about it. She takes a video, unable to watch everything in real time.

She closes her eyes against the stinging tears, aware with each punch he endures that something else is torn away from her—from him—from _them_.

And it’s given to them, sacrificed on the bloody banks of Sweetwater.

The breeze cools the tears on her cheeks until they feel like prickly ice clawing down her face. When she hears the thwacks subside, she allows her blue-green eyes to flicker open. Jughead stands one more time, bloody, dazed, and nods at Sweet Pea, who delivers the final, tooth-breaking blow against his face.

_He’s not getting up_ , Betty panics, sniffling against her bloody palm.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, beginning to feel the edges of vision getting black, starry.

_This is it._

_This was Juliet’s premonition._

_I’ve lost him._

Everything seems like a vortex of mute, horrible pain, and she almost drops her phone, ready to rush at this gang and throw them into the river until she hears the shuffle of dirt down below.

A figure swaggers, nearly heaving with effort of trying to get up at Sweet Pea’s feet. Jughead is staggering on his elbows to get up. She leans forward, completely aware that she may slide into view, but she needs to make sure he’s okay. It’s a stupid thought. How can he possibly be okay?

He’s almost unrecognizable. Swollen, caved in, bleeding. Strong? Weak? Broken? Whole? She’s not even sure.

Sweet Pea take Jughead’s hand and slam him on the shoulder, nodding. The other Serpents surround her bloodied boyfriend, hugging him, rustling his beanie.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, brother,” one of them shouts. Stifling her sobs, Betty crawls back into the darkness, still recording, but no longer aiming at anything in particular. Without the sound of bones and flesh colliding, she has to focus on steadying her breath so they won’t know she’s there.

“Toni—you seem to have a soft spot for Jones. Why don’t you do the honors?” Sweet Pea chuckles, as if beating the shit out of someone who doesn’t fight back is just as fun as anything else in this town. Betty _hates_ him. She hates _all of them_.

“Sounds good, Sweet Pea,” Toni replies easily, and Betty notices with a twinge of hatred that the girl’s small hand is caressing Jughead whilst pretending to support under his arms.

_Fuck her. Fuck them. Fuck everything._

Part of her wants to beat them back to the trailer and be standing there, demanding an explanation for how he could betray his friends for someone who would do _this_ to him. Archie and him have had their share of fights, sure, but they never put on a brass knuckle with the intent and purpose of beating loyalty into each other.

Betty needs help.

_Jughead needs help._

Groaning, she shoves her palms against her neck, hoping to strangle out the mess of emotions, suppress the rage on her palms so she doesn’t try to take out Sweet Pea and Toni right here by the river. A beacon from a higher power, her phone lights up with a call from her mother.

“Shit,” she mutters, quickly swiping right to answer it and scuttle off to the side. No one seems to have noticed her. They’re all either hanging out by the river or treading back to their respective trailers. It should make her sad, that this is what their community is. She had playdates in a treehouse with Archie and Jughead. Milkshakes at Pop’s. Dolls with Polly. Now she has the newspaper, cheerleading, movie dates at the Bijou. They have blood and mud and leather. And the Wyrm…a bar with a mild arcade.

“Mom?” she breathes, trying to suppress the panic attack she’s been on the edge of for a few minutes…or years.

Her mother’s tone is impatient as always. Needling with parental control, Alice demands, “Elisabeth Cooper, when are you coming home? You’ve been so busy lately I don’t know if you’re eating anything besides milkshakes and burgers. Are those cheerleaders giving you crap about your weight again? I swear that Cheryl Blossom lives off of loathing and ice.”

“I’m—I’ll be late. I’m at Jughead’s,” Betty stutters, swallowing.

“Oh,” the disapproval weighs heavily on the other end of the line. “He’s not with his new _Serpent_ friends? I would have figured they’d be at the White Wyrm or selling drugs by the scrapyard at this hour.”

Closing her eyes against another onslaught of tears, Betty inhales through her mouth. “I have to go. I’ll be home soon, maybe. I—we’re kind of having a fight. I might need to stop by Veronica’s.”

_Shit,_ she realizes, forgetting that they’re not speaking either. “I mean—we’re not really great right now too. So…I should be home soon.”

“Really? Get rid of Archie and that makes a set,” Alice muses, sounding surprised. “Well don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ll have all your favorites ready when you come home. Let me know if you want me to kick some Serpent-Lodge faces in, okay?”

“Yeah,” Betty can barely whisper. Her mom is being _so nice_ after that article. Why? Was she just numb to it all? Betty stutter on another sob. “Mom—I think I’ll need a ride. But can you give me fifteen minutes?”

Her mother pauses, stunned. “I’ll be right there.”

By the time Betty crawls to the trailer, she can hear the soft voice of Toni comforting Jughead through the thin ply material. Bracing herself, she lets her ponytail out and halfheartedly combs out her blonde hair. She can do without any ponytail comments this round.

She’s not sure why—maybe to torture herself later—she starts another recording. Maybe the Black Hood will want proof. “I’m doing this to protect Jughead Jones from the Black Hood…and himself,” her tear-streaked face tells the camera. “He threatened to cut Jughead from my life if I didn’t do it myself, but it seems like maybe…he already left.” She sticks the camera in her pocket, facing outward. If she knocks, Toni will come to the door. She can already picture that sympathetic, slightly smug face blocking the doorway.

“He doesn’t want to see you right now,” imaginary Toni tells her.

And Betty would glower, and say something mean, and not even be able to tell his face. And that might be better. But it’s not.

She needs to see him. Even as exhausted as she is, she can’t have _Toni_ be the one tending to his wounds when she did it just two days ago. She wants to be the one…

Pushing aside her pain, Betty shoves open the door to the trailer.

The two spring apart from the kitchen table. “Jesus! Knock much?” Toni asks, holding a pen-like device in the air.

“What the hell is that?” Betty asks, slightly numb. She hasn’t even fully processed Jughead’s stunned face, ice pack, and continual wince.

“It’s a tattoo pen,” Toni says, raising one eyebrow.

Betty raises an eyebrow at the bruised lump that used to be Jughead. “I’m guessing you’re not getting I Heart Betty on your bicep.” He glowers in her general direction, only one eye visible under the ice pack. Everything is swollen, a distortion of the boy she loves. He’s not even wearing the beanie, she realizes, stiffening in panic. She thought he only took it off in front of her and Archie. But Toni’s his chosen family now, after only a _week_.

Blinking back some tears, Betty manages to make eye contact with Toni. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

The short Serpent glances at Jughead. “I don’t know…I don’t think he really wants to be alone with you right now.”

“I know that Toni. But I really need to talk to him,” she breathes. Jughead nods, and Toni retreats to the outside of the trailer, hovering on the steps.

They’ve never been good with silence. They’re always touching, smiling, nuzzling when they’re alone. Even before they became… _lovers_ , she thinks with an internal groan…they’d be sharing books or snacks and chatting idly. _What do you think about this?_ But now…he knows and disregards what she thinks.

Without knowing what to say, how to move forward, Betty stands in silence, letting the tears fall down her cheeks.

“Is this why you came here?” Jughead asks, voice gravelly, exhausted. “To try and guilt me out of joining the Serpents? Because it’s done, Betty. I’m one of them.”

Biting her lip, she tries to take in a shallow breath.

“I thought you died back there.” The words are so soft she’s not even sure he can hear them.

“Well, I didn’t,” he mutters miserably, not looking at her, not even seeing how unraveled she’s become.

Her eyes search the room in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. Despair is so monstrous and swelling within her she wonders why she’s even fighting it. “I feel like…I’ve lost you, Jug.”

“To what?” he snaps, glowering at her. “The dreaded south side? Some scary gang that drops dead bodies into freezers?”

Shaking her head, Betty keeps crying. She _hates_ it. She hates not being able to communicate when she’s upset, and normally is able to keep it together by holding onto him. But he gets so _angry_. He storms away. He _pushes her away_.

“Maybe they need someone like me, Betty,” he continues, angry. “Someone who thinks before they act. Someone who…I don’t know…understands the struggle.”

Betty almost scoffs, looking to the ceiling. He shoots her a glare, as if aware of her misgivings.

“What’s so crazy about that? I can _reason_ with them.”

“Like you reasoned with the mayor? Like you reasoned with the Sheriff when he almost put you away for contempt? Or even Archie and the Red Circle?” He slams the ice pack down on the table.

“You think a lot about Archie, don’t you? You two must’ve gotten awfully close since I transferred schools.”

“Come on, Jug,” Betty sighs, wiping her cheeks. “You and I both know you’ve been pushing me away.” He sits silently, glaring at the table instead of his sniffling girlfriend. “I don’t…understand why. But I’m tired of being pushed away. If this is what you want, you can have it.”

He glances up, confused. Those lips that scowl in the face of corruption twist his broken face, and she desperately wants to cup his cheek, smooth it away into a shy smirk of the boy she used to love.

_The boy she does love._

There are so many things she could say to hurt him. _“This is exactly why your Mom left. Because she didn’t want to see you and Jellybean turn into this lifestyle.”_

But she pushes those things away and walks over, tentatively touching the start of his serpent tattoo. He winces against the sting, pulling away from her. She wonders if the tender flesh feels anything like her heart right now. Raw. Blistering. Bankrupt and overflowing all at the same time.

Her eyes lock onto his. This stranger. This friend. “I wish you wanted _me,_ too.”

Swallowing, he looks like he wants to say something, nearly begging. “Betty…”

_Say it._

But instead, he attempts to steel whatever’s left of him and whispers hoarsely, “I think this is for the best.”

The impact of his words is almost overwhelming. It’s like she’s been hit with a wave, pulled under into Sweetwater River along with Jason. She understands why Cheryl plunged into its icy depths instead of feeling this burning, radiating pain. “For what?” is all she can say, shaking her head in confusion. Her fingers smear the tears on her cheeks like war paint. Jughead opens his mouth to say something, but only air comes out. Even his fingers lift just a little, but not enough to comfort the broken blonde in his kitchen.

“Are you even going to take care of yourself?” she asks, not able to look at him.

His voice is right, resentful. “I always have.”

When he hesitates, unable to respond, she shakes her head, gritting her teeth against the growing nausea inside of her. “You just let them beat you to death. I wouldn’t say you have the best judgment when it comes to taking care of yourself.”

“That’s not your concern.”

Blinking, she’s aware it’s useless to fight. And hell, he’s only too happy to let someone else into his life.

“No. I guess it’s been Toni’s for the last couple days, right? You two have been awfully cozy.”

“I—we’re not…”

“Flirting?” she says sharply, catching his gaze long enough to see the shame brooding there. “Well for the sake of whatever dignity I have left, could you at least wait a week? Two, if you want to be really classy. I’m not stupid enough not to notice the way you two split apart when I came in.”

His jaw drops in almost-outrage, eyes red-rimmed as if he doesn’t trust himself, let alone anything else she can say. “I don’t think it’s your concern anymore.”

“No. I was just stupid enough to love someone who won’t love me back. Again.” She sniffs, shaking her head at the floor. “I guess you and Archie have a lot more in common than you think.” The flash of lights outside indicate to her that her mother is pulling up. Jughead senses the tenseness in her demeanor and sneaks in one last jibe.

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m guessing. Right on time. For once, I’m glad to be interrupted. Give my warmest regards to Archibald when you run to tell him the good news. But don’t be surprised if he doesn’t take the bait, Betty. Just because you’re not slumming it with me doesn’t mean he’ll ever be desperate enough to start slumming it with you.”

The horn blasts, but Betty can barely hear it. She goes up to Jughead and stares him straight in the face, ears practically ringing in rage, feeling the sting of the slap across his face. The sound invigorates her, the throbbing redness in her palm somehow focusing everything around her. For a millisecond she’s worried she’s opened the wound from the brass knuckles. But then she remembers that Bughead is dead. It has to be. Her anger reverberates through her, and for a second she’s _glad_ the Black Hood is breaking ties with him…with this jealous, insecure, pretentious asshole who’s been running around behind her back.

He blinks back angry tears, face still turned away from her in what she hopes is shame. They threaten spill over, washing away the blood. Still fueled with indignant rage, Betty leans forward and presses her lips fiercely against Jughead’s. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away, his hands hovering over her back. In fact, he opens his mouth a little in what feels halfway between a gasp and a moan. The taste is metallic. Bitter. Wet. Salty. She pulls away and avoids his shaky-breathed stupor as she beelines for the door.

_Choke on your desolation, you fucking prick._

“I hope it was worth it, Forscythe,” she snaps, slamming the door shut behind her. Toni jumps, clearly hovering by the doorway to finish whatever her and Jughead started. Betty’s rage practically shoots right through her, the trailer still shaking from the impact of the door. “Get out of my way, before I _kill you_.”

Wide-eyed and quiet for once, Toni jumps off the stairs and onto the lawn. Bewildered, Toni watches Betty stalk towards her mother’s car and slam the door shut.

“Who’s that?” Alice asks, eyes narrowing on the pink-haired imp hanging onto the trailer’s stair railing, still hovering, unsure whether to go in or not.

“Toni.”

“She looks like a tramp.” Betty shoots her mother a scathing look. “Right. Well.” She shifts the car into gear as if to pull away, then hesitates. “Do you want me to kick his ass?”

Betty crosses her arms, jaw set. “I want to go home.”

“Well _I_ want to kick his Serpent-loving ass,” Alice growls, already shifting back into park.

“Don’t worry Mom, he got beat in by his so-called _friends_ today.” At Alice’s blank look, she takes a deep breath. “Jughead just joined the Serpents.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Alice seethes, scandalized. “And you—“

“I told him not to, but he keeps insisting it’s the only place he belongs. I’ve tried telling him he belongs in Riverdale. God, I gave a whole _speech_ for him in front of the whole _town_. But he doesn’t listen to me. And before you start with me, Mom, _you_ were a Serpent, so I have _no_ time to go through this tonight.” She closes her eyes, leaning her elbow on the window so she can support her head. “He just…looked _broken._ ” Betty shakes her head. “Why would you let someone do that to you?”

Her words reverberate back to her, shaking her to the core. Why is she letting the Black Hood do this to her? While her mind screams at her about Polly, about Riverdale, her mother's focus draws her mind away.

“Well,” Alice says, sighing, gently moving her daughter’s hair. “Girls don’t get beaten in or out, so I never had to go through that. I’m sorry that Jughead’s showing his true colors, Betty. You’re better off with someone who can confide in you, who’s strong enough on their own without a much-needed attitude adjustment. Maybe now you’ll learn not to let people like that hurt you,” Alice muses, arching an eyebrow. Toni inching towards the trailer door catches her eye, and Alice rolls down the window to shout, “Beat it, tramp!” and honk the horn. Normally Betty would be mortified, but she actually feels relieved to see Toni crumple up and bolt into the park.

Betty half-smiles at her mom, who shrugs. “You know I love you, right Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie, I know.”

“I just…want to thank you. For tonight. For staying by my side even when I did something…” she lets her voice taper off.

“Oh, sweetie. You don’t have to thank me. You’re my baby. I’ll always be here for you.” Alice’s hand smooths back Betty’s hair, worriedly, lovingly. It makes Betty want to cry all over again.

They feel the gaze of a bloodied Jughead glaring through the window of the trailer, so Alice throws him a rude gesture and sets them in drive again.

“He looks awful,” Alice says, sounding a least a little satisfied.

“Mom—what’s gotten into you?” Betty asks, making sure the videos she recorded are saved and stored in her cloud.

“What’s gotten into _you_ , Betty? Was it Jughead and that girl? Is that why you’ve been digging up this dirt on me and the Serpents? Fighting with Veronica? Because honestly Betty, normally you’re chasing murderers—not engaging in friend drama.”

“It’s a long story,” Betty mutters, shoving her fingers into the thickest part of her hair. Her mother rants on for a while about the virtues of being a strong, independent woman.

At home, after a lengthy hug. Betty goes in to wash up for bed. Her face is streaked with blood and tears. Confused, she glances at her hands. Oh. Her nails. They’d poked through the flesh of her palms at some point, so when she went to wipe the tears away she hadn’t even realized the haunting effect it left behind. Hesitating, Betty decides not to wash it away. She’d wear it as her badge of courage for daring to be a fierce, independent woman. Until tomorrow, when she’d have to face it all again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was brutal. I can totally imagine a post-breakup Jughead and Betty just sobbing it out in their respective loneliness, but at least Alice is still sticking by Betty's side. I mean, it really only took a week for Jughead to go from perfect, supportive boyfriend to reckless and pretty rude, in my opinion. With the Black Hood pushing her buttons, Betty is bound to get a little reckless and rude on her own terms. The run away/goodbye scene in Pop's always makes me cry, because I feel like they both know this is goodbye. Jughead because he's actively screwing up and Betty because Jughead keeps pushing her away, the Black Hood just waiting to come down on them. I feel like they both treasure and mourn that last piece of perfection between them. I thought it was cheap of the writers on the show to not even have Jughead call and confirm Betty broke up with him via Archie. I mean, I know he had to get the snot beat out of him, but the Toni kiss just didn't make sense in that regard. I know he thinks he's broken and not worth Betty's love, but REALLY? They just wanted drama and to use a new lady as a plot device. Rude. So I did this scene on my own terms. Even though this fic is painful to write, I'm loving it, and I hope you are too ^-^


	3. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-breakup, Jughead tries to reassert his stance with the Serpents. Archie's NOT a fan. Betty takes some extra precautions to protect her friends and isolate herself when the Black Hood finally pushes her to shut off her phone. Southside High closes due to drugs and violent crimes and the schools are combined, forcing Betty and Jughead to confront a little bit of their resentment.

The Serpents insist on dragging him to his favorite diner for breakfast in celebration of his tattoo. Toni had texted him last night, asking when he wanted it finished and if he needed anything. Most likely she was too terrified of Alice to come near the trailer, and to be honest he was a little grateful. It gave him some time to process the _mess_ of last night. Breaking up with Betty was for her own good. Or…her breaking up with him. He still wasn’t really sure where his pain ended and hers began. Jail or running away. That’s the only way she saw this ending. That’s the way she saw his Dad’s life, how she saw theirs. In some ways, so did he. Unless…maybe he just needed time to sort this thing out. The whole reason he _joined_ was to _help_ the Serpents…help them realize there are more ways of fighting back than using a pipe bomb. They were regarding the Black Hood as a _hero_ , taking down north siders. Maybe they just needed a voice of reason, a voice like him who had their common interests at heart. That meant taking a stronger stance against the north side, against discrimination. Of course as soon as he stepped over to them, Archie went on a testosterone-fueled binge adding fuel to the fire. It’s like no one could even _function_ with the bloodlust around Riverdale. He just…he wanted things to be better than they used to be. But everything… _everything_ was making him angry.

In the meantime, he wouldn’t be the reason Betty’s locker was painted in blood. Knowing Betty, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself out of the fray. She’d want to protect him. Or maybe she’d get worn down by it too, sick of having to defend him. Her mother was a whole other universe of insanity and would probably dump him with Jason Blossom if he put her little girl in danger, even accidentally. It was safer for them to be apart for a while. The universe seemed to be screaming at him that they didn’t belong together, even if his heart achingly tried to convince him otherwise. Maybe that’s why he didn’t call her, text her the past week, except to call for that one encounter at Pop’s. It was a moment of weakness, of beauty. He shakes his head at that thought, pulling into the Pop’s parking lot as a reprieve against the wind pounding against his face on the bike ride, pain crawling up his chest.

He needs to pull himself together. To lead. Toni was right. There was no way someone could stick around for all this. Even someone like Betty.

After his shower, seeing the faint etched heart with their initials on his mirror had driven him into despair, smearing the message with his hand. Before he knew it, he was pounding against it with his fist, choked sobs wracking his chest, as if somehow he could resuscitate their relationship by sheer force of will. The cool glass gave him nothing. So he steadied his breath amidst the fog and resigned himself to cold showers for the rest of his life. The Serpents had joined him in the morning to get the rest of his tattoo finished, laughing about Alice’s tirade on Toni. Even halfhearted smirks hurt his face, reopening its wounds. It only made sense that Betty’s slap would be a part of the gauntlet. When he took up the reigns of becoming a Serpent, it was with the knowledge he’d either have to keep it a secret until they were under control or watch Betty walk away.

He still kind of wants to call her, see if she wants to talk after the emotional bomb of his initiation. Straighten out some things.

But of course Pop’s can’t be empty of his old life. A familiar varsity jacket at the counter catches his eye almost immediately. Before he can go to the other side of the diner, Archie’s startled off of his stool, glaring at the entering patrons.

“Jughead, are you serious? These are the guys that attacked me at my Dad’s!” Archie sputters, gesturing to the three guys behind him. Curiously, he doesn’t mention Jughead’s injuries. With a knowing pang, Jughead realizes Betty probably already told him.

Sweet Pea takes a step closer to the redhead, already flexing his knuckles. “Yeah, Jones, that’s the redhead that pulled a _gun_ on me in south-side territory.”

“You were the one who started a fight! What did you think, a _knife_ was an accurate response to a can of spray paint?”

Jughead, annoyed, puts his hands up between the groups. He doesn’t have the emotional or mental capacity for this right now. “Easy, guys, you already worked out this fight on the streets, remember? Archie,” he nods curtly, already turning to go down another aisle.

Archie snags Jughead’s jacket, yanking him back. The flare-up in Jughead’s eyes matches his friend’s. _Now_ Archie’s pissing him off. He’s not the only one with a lot of _issues_ around here. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jughead? This isn’t _you_.”

“You’re right,” Jughead says, steeling himself. “The old Jughead would let guys like you and Reggie slam into my shoulders and not say a thing. This…this is my new family. And we’re not going to take your stupid testosterone-fueled shit anymore.” Jughead’s fist smacks his jacket free. The Serpents look at him with blossoming respect, admiration. Jughead thinks he can used to this kind of power.

Disgusted, Archie shakes his head at what used to be his friend. “Betty was right. You have turned to the dark side.”

“Leave Betty out of this,” Jughead warns, voice low.

“Why? It’s not like _you_ care about her. I’ve seen her crying through her window at night. She’s told me about all the missed calls, unanswered texts. Where _were_ you Jughead? She _needed_ you and you bailed.” Archie’s indignant attitude makes Jughead want to punch him in the face. As if he’s the perfect boy-next-door. Like he didn’t stomp all over Betty’s heart when he had the chance, like he didn’t completely abandon Jughead during the summer his Mom ran away with Jellybean so he could bang the music teacher. It’s highly unlikely _Archie’s_ been there for Betty when he’s been running around the streets with his shirtless bros looking for a murderer.

Jughead tilts his jaw, bracing it for yet another punch like he’s still in the gauntlet. “I didn’t bail. Are you spying on Betty through her window, Archie? I thought you were better than that.”

The redhead’s eyebrows arch in disgust. “Better than what? At being there for her? Yeah, Jughead. Because I’m _here_. I didn’t run off to south side and start a vendetta against my hometown.”

“News flash—the south side _is_ part of our hometown, Archie! Or are you too stupid to get that?” The Serpents behind him chuckle, but he’s not sure how much of this argument is for show anymore.

“So why bother transferring, Jughead? More nonconformist bullshit? Because let me tell you—that tattoo and leather jacket is _exactly_ the same for all of those scumbags!”

Hands go up, chests get shoved.

“HEY!” Pop shouts, concerned about the actual _scuffle_ going down in his establishment. “Boys, you’re friends. We’re all friends here. Remember that.”

“No…we _were_ friends,” Jughead spits at his friend, shaking his head in disgust.

“I thought so too,” Archie replies, disappointed. Most of the time, Jughead resents that childlike ignorance Archie exudes most of his life. He thought Grundy cared about him—that it was a _real_ relationship and not some illegal predator shit going down. He thought Valerie was going to help him with his music career, even after he ditched her to schmooze with Cheryl. He had this totally surreal, unrealistic expectation that everyone was going to come together and help him make the best of his life no matter how he treated them in return. Like _his_ moral compass pointed north. Fred Andrews was the most forgiving dad in the world, and honestly Betty was probably the most lenient best friend and confidant he could’ve asked for. He’s been spoiled.

Archie was a self-righteous ignorant asshole sometimes. And while Jughead could usually shake his head at it, endure the ego stroking necessary to be a part of his world, enjoy it, even, he couldn’t right now. Not when Jughead was preventing an all-out war—a pipe bomb blowing up the school. He was sick of being Archie’s voice of reason.

“I’ll take my food to go. Suddenly I’m not _hungry_ anymore,” he snaps. The Serpents all kind of look at each other.

“But—you’re taking it to go, right?” Toni asks.

Sighing, Jughead shakes his head. Archie’s stupidity can be contagious, especially when he’s angry. “Yes, damn it. Two cheeseburgers, fries, and a—“ he almost orders Betty’s favorite, so used to sharing it with her. “A vanilla milkshake, to go.” He’s not sure why he still ordered it. He’s only going to think of her. Tasting her. Kissing her. Having it shoved in his face by the north side in some kind of twisted milkshake “justice” for breaking Riverdale’s sweetheart’s heart.

“Don’t bother. I’m already taking mine to go. But stay away from her, Jughead,” Archie warns, as if he’s reading his mind. “I mean it.”

“Bite me, Andrews,” Jughead snarls, humiliated by the emotional response in front of his new crew.

“Juggie, it’s okay.” Toni rubs his arm comfortingly, and Jughead flinches in surprise at her use of Betty’s pet name for him. He can feel Archie’s eyes narrow in on the short girl at his side.

Scoffing, Archie turns away, stuffing his fists in his varsity jacket. “She deserves better than you, Jughead. Better than me, too,” he mutters, and for a second Jughead feels like his heart is shattering all over again.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s turned off her phone. Her lifeline. Anything. When her former friends show up for the parent conference about the Jingle Jangle party, the only person who even vaguely defends her is Archie, citing the breakup as the reason for her surly attitude. Painfully aware of her nails against her palms, Betty tries to ignore them. She’s no saint.

“Wait, Bughead is no more? She didn’t tell me,” Kevin whispers, and she can already feel him edging towards her chair, wanting the full story. She doesn’t turn, not even to see Veronica’s reluctant frown. Any amount of sympathy will probably destroy whatever grip on her emotions Betty is grappling with.

Hal pauses the parental discussion to remind the kids to pay attention. “You’re the ones that got yourselves into this mess,” he reminds them with the same condescending tone he used when Betty was five. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she calms herself and looks at the ceiling until it’s all over and they receive their punishment for going out past curfew—community service.

Before anyone can talk to her, Betty tries to slink away.

“Has he contacted you?” Archie asks, grabbing her arm, ignoring Veronica’s glare.

“I’ve turned off my phone,” she shrugs, not sure if he means the Black Hood or Jughead. Her eyes are red-rimmed, swollen from sobbing. “I…it was really bad, Arch. I just don’t think I can face him, or anyone right now. I’m going to ask that you respect my privacy.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, surprised.

All the parents eyes shift to her, and suddenly she feels the cold chill of the Black Hood surround her. It could be any of them. Terrified to go back to her room, Betty cleans and stays up for as long as she possibly can before her parents demand she go to bed.

“Please, no,” she begs, aware of how unreasonable she sounds. She’s too old to sleep with them, but she can’t be alone, can’t be vulnerable again. With some apprehension, she finally makes her way to her bedroom. Her phone sits on her desk, dark. But the flashing light indicating a missed call sets her heart running. She didn't turn her phone  _on_. Hesitantly, she picks it up and scrolls through the screen. No new messages except from Kevin.

“What happened?”

Not in the mood to deal with the drama, she marks the message as read and gets ready for bed. The water starts running when she hears that dreaded upbeat ringtone go off again.

How has something she once thought was so useful be such an instrument of torture?

Her fingers swipe, feeling like it’s a cut against her wrists.

“Is it done?” the voice on the other end asks, clearly pleased with itself.

“You know it is. But so are we,” she nearly sobs. “I want to know _who you are_.”

“It’s time. Meet me.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Black Hood tries to make a fool out of her. He doesn’t show. He calls her at the prearranged time, asking her to put on a mask. Betty holds it in her hand, not breathing, just waiting. “Is it on?” he asks, and feeling compelled to push boundaries, she answers, “Yes.” He gives her the next instruction to look in a mirror, prattling on about darkness. _He can’t see me_ , _he’s not even here_ , she thinks angrily to herself, wanting to tear the stupid mask to shreds.

“We’re the same,” the synthesized voice insists, as if this is some huge, giant reveal. But all she wants to do is smash this stupid mirror, to crush her phone in her palm, burn the Black Hood down. She’s hurt people—people she _loves_ just for the chance for him to give a psychotic monologue?

“If you don’t reveal yourself, we’re _done_ ,” she growls.

“But we’re the same, Betty, don’t you see?”

Clenching her eyes shut, Betty removes the phone from her ear. This man, this _psycho,_ just wants to play a game. And she doesn’t feel like playing. He has to come to _her_.

With a determined sigh, she hangs up and shuts her phone off. Permanently.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s just easier to block everything out. She hates herself for being so mean to Veronica and Jug, for not tending to his wounds. Hates him for pushing her away, hates herself for leaving. She’s just _done_. Her phone sits in a hidden corner of the basement. She doesn’t even tell her mother where it is, saying she lost it when stabbing trash for community service, and doesn’t think she deserves a new one.

“How will I know you’re safe?” Alice asks, taken aback. “Betty, you need a phone.”

“No,” Betty says fiercely, and Alice drops it, because when Betty’s not at home she’s at school, and then she comes right back home. Alice still helps on the Blue and Gold, so she pretty much has permanent access to her in the week that follows. Betty’s not her usual self, she’s far more guarded, but Alice thinks that’s probably for the best.

The Black Hood can’t rightly leave a note for Betty without Alice seeing it, but he tries to sneak one against her bedroom window. Alice spots it before Betty, and they burn it and hide the ladder so they don’t have any more visitors. They even start sleeping in the same room, piles of soda cans left as sound alarms throughout the house. The Black Hood will have a hard time getting through to these girls. As if she _could_ get rid of her mother—even if she wanted to. Her father just keeps visiting, shaking his head disappointedly—or at least she thinks he does, on the rare occasions he’s _around_. His mother argues with him until they’re blue in the face about independence and facing the music. Everything just feels like an empty shell crackling around her.

It’s only been a few days, but she’s still waiting for the next murder victim to be someone she loves. Her mother keeps telling her it won’t be her fault if someone gets punished for doing drugs late at night. Sheriff Keller only knows that she has reason to believe the Hood will attack again, but he hasn’t told anybody besides Hiram Lodge to keep a closer eye on Veronica. Polly’s been relocated. Jughead was forced to move back and _stay_ with his foster family, not sit by himself in the trailer. She’s guessing he left her a few angry messages about that one.

But she’s staying away from everyone for now…just to be safe. She can’t stop the Black Hood. She almost doesn’t want to. She wants chaos to reign around her…understands why Cheryl burned her house to the ground. None of this matters anymore. Not if her attempts to make the town better turn it into a hunting ground.

Her pleas for the innocent fall on deaf ears. She sits in the Blue and Gold office, not even aware of Archie standing in the doorway as it’s announced that Southside High has been closed due to some violence and a drug raid.

“You okay, B?”

As if her exhaustion doesn’t speak for itself, Betty quirks an eyebrow at him. Sighing, Archie takes a seat next to her. “You haven’t spoken to anybody for days. You spend all your time on homework or crying in your room. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. “The…it’s this Black Hood stuff. I’m just keeping a low profile.” Unable to suppress her instincts, she reaches for his forearm. “How are you doing Arch? Last I heard the Sheriff was keeping an eye on your Red Circle stuff.”

“Yeah, they threatened if I attack anyone unprovoked that I’ll be expelled,” Archie sighs, already half-abandoning Betty’s issues. It’s just his nature, he’s not even trying to be malicious about it. “But I think the safety of Riverdale citizens is more important than my spot on the football team, you know? So we’re still doing it. Just…less.”

“Be careful,” she nods, and he agrees. “How’s…?”

“Veronica?” he fills in, reading her face. She’s always been unnaturally expressive without even saying anything. “She’s okay. Still…recovering…from the Nick stuff.” Betty nods, slowly putting together pieces of the puzzle. She hasn’t fully apologized to Veronica, just sort of drags herself from class to class. Veronica even wanted to make amends and offered her coffee. But Betty had to shake her head apologizing with, “Now’s not a great time,” watching the brunette’s crestfallen face as she pulled away the bag of scones.

“I hope she’s doing well.”

“Do you?” Archie asks, hopeful.

Betty shrugs. It’s all she has energy for these days. “Yeah. I wish her the best.”

Biting his lip, Archie looks over his shoulder to make sure no one can overhear their conversation. “Then, why did you go off on her that night and not follow up with her? I know she looks tough, but Veronica was really upset. You don’t really think she’s a bad person, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Betty leans back in her chair. “I don’t think she’s straight-up murdered anybody, Arch. But her father _is_ a mobster and she’s complacent in his dealings. Technically, she’s not innocent. I love her as a friend, but—“ she shakes her head. “They’ve _ruined_ people’s lives. Ethel’s life…by proxy.”

For a moment she thinks Archie is going to say Ethel never had much of a life to begin with, but surprisingly wise, he says, “I think it’s hard for any of us to turn on our parents, you know? Think of Jug. His Dad…what he did…but we all still fought for him, right? For you. For Jug. Because you said he needed us, he needed his Dad to be free.”

“Fat lot of good that did,” Betty mutters, shoving her pen back in the cap.

“It did, Betty. You saved his life. I mean, who knows what Jug would’ve done—“

“I can’t save everyone, Archie. It’s not _my_ responsibility,” she snaps, echoing her mother and therapist. Archie’s taken aback, leaning away from his childhood best friend.

“Um, no. But Veronica needs you, Betty. And I think you may need her.” The unmentioned boy they share in common hovers between them, but Betty shakes her head.

“I can’t right now. With the Black Hood and my mom—I just can’t.”

“Seriously? Who else is going to help us straighten out Jughead when he comes here tomorrow?”

“Jughead? Come—why would he be coming here?” she asks, confused.

“Didn’t you hear? There’ve been some murders at Southside.” Betty’s mouth runs dry, eyes gone wide. “Some kind of gang war. Go figure. So they did a drug raid after Reggie confessed about where he was getting Jingle Jangle and they closed the school. Now some of them are coming here. Kevin saw the list. Jug and some of the Serpents have been transferred here, starting tomorrow.”

Her teeth bury themselves into her bottom lip. “Shit!”

Eyes wide, Archie leans back. “Whoa, Betty. I don’t think I’ve heard you swear since—“

“I have to go,” she sighs, shoving herself away from the desk.

 

* * *

 

An ongoing cacophony of white noise reverberates around her, almost dizzying her to the point of needing to sit down. Were the murders the handiwork of the Black Hood or of normal gang tensions? Guilt swirls inside of her, building up until she heaves into the toilet nearby. Much to her mother’s satisfaction, the whole Black Hood ordeal has made her too nervous to eat much, so she’s lost a few pounds. Although she’s feeling more gaunt than thin, Betty wipes the bile off her face and attempts to splash some water to bring back the color.

“Are you…okay?” she hears someone ask. Cheryl. Red-headed nightmare fuel.

“I’m fine,” she snaps, smearing her lipstick against her palm.

Cheryl quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “If this is about hobo-man coming back, I get it. He makes me sick too. But if you do want him back, maybe try wearing more plaid, less sweaters.”

“Shut… _up_ Cheryl,” Betty snarls halfheartedly, blowing her nose in a piece of toilet paper.

Almost concerned, but really more curious, Cheryl comes closer. “Is it something else? I know we’re not exactly _friends_ , but—”

“Stop! Okay? I get it! We’re not friends! I’m just some fat girl you let onto the squad because Veronica vouched for me. But we saved you from Sweetwater River, okay? Why do you still insist on torturing people? Go live your life and stay out of mine!”

Astonished, Cheryl practically stumbles out of the bathroom. It’s rare Betty snaps on someone. Although Cheryl’s been the brunt of it before, Betty—actually, no one—has mentioned her brief affair with death. It’s humiliating. Humbling. And she’ll be damned if she has to watch one more woe-is-me romance walking through these halls, especially that stupid hipster.

Betty, however, has no energy to deal with someone else’s mental breakdown right now.

_Just keep your own head above water_ her mother had told her, and so she would. But if she tells her mother about the Serpents coming back to Riverdale High, she’ll be homeschooled. Although it’s probably safer for the school, she’s fairly certain she will literally go insane if she’s stuck with Alice as her only social contact all day. She’ll just…have to face them.

 

* * *

 

Betty is vaguely aware of shouting coming from the main hall. The general thudding in her head from lack of sleep keeps her from really processing it at all. She just sees a blur of red, varsity jackets, and leather-clad teens in the main hall. Oh. And a black dress and pearls.

She contemplates waiting until it’s all over to pass through the heavily congested war-zone, but it could provide a welcome distraction for her to escape unscathed. Clutching her books to her chest, Betty tucks her chin down and walks fast. Of course her golden ponytail must catch their eye, because she feels at least four eyes slick over to her amidst Jughead’s familiar protest that they’ll do whatever they damn please. It’s the first time she’s heard his voice since their breakup, and it runs through her chest like a chainsaw. Something sounding like Sweet Pea carries on where Jughead leaves off. She doesn’t stop, even when Reggie backs into her, stepping on her feet.

“Sorry, princess,” he says over his shoulder, turning back to the incoming students to lay into them. “Our parents have already flooded the phone lines demanding that you snakes go back to whatever sewer you crawled out of.”

Betty pauses, not wanting to butt in but also a little horrified at the way he’s speaking to them. “Reggie, what the hell?”

“Oh, like you’re much better, blondie,” Toni snaps. Betty didn’t even realize she was standing there. “We know you hate us, especially after what you said to Jug.”

He’s standing right there, enveloped in the leather jacket that’s become a second skin. Their gazes meet for one heated, terrible second, and she’s afraid she’s about to step towards him, fall into his cold, swirling gaze and caress his cheek and hope it all goes away.

But someone tall steps in, Reggie, tilting his head in a mocking gesture as he taunts, “She has a 4.0, Lil’ Bitch. When’s the last time you brought home anything but the D?”

Sweet Pea and the other Serpents launch at Reggie, fists flying. Betty attempts to curl in on herself to avoid the fray, but everyone is sloppy-mad, and Sweet Pea shoving Reggie results in his elbow smacking into her face, a sharp pain she thought was reserved for the football field.

“What the?!” she protests, backing away. She misses the alarmed expression on Jughead’s face, pulling at his friends’ leather to keep them at bay.

“See?!” Cheryl points an accusing finger at the Serpents. “These thugs are already endangering our students!”

“He started it!” Sweet Pea snaps, ready to thrust at Reggie again.

“Sweet Pea! Jughead’s right. It’s not worth it,” Toni scoffs, eyeing the tall jock in front of her, raising an eyebrow at Betty’s bruising face.

_Great. Bet she’s loving this._

Then, paling, a worse thought strikes her, and that’s what her _mother_ will do when she sees her with a bruise.

“Betty, are you okay?” Veronica asks hesitantly, haltingly moving towards her sort-of best friend.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, turning quickly to get out of the hellish hallway.

“Wait for me, cousin Betty!” Cheryl trills, trotting after her. “I’ll take you to the nurse. We wouldn’t want you to be unprotected against these unsavory characters,” she adds, eyeing Toni with malicious interest as she passes.

Threading her arm through Betty’s, Cheryl pulls back to slow her pace. “Come now, Betty. We can take our sweet time now that you’ve been assaulted.”

Glowering, Betty makes her way to class. “I wasn’t assaulted, Cheryl. I was collateral damage.”

“By those Serpents. Those gang members,” Cheryl faux-empathizes. “How is your mother doing? And sweet cousin Polly? To think, their almost-in-law is now almost an outlaw.”

Adrenaline allows Betty to wrench herself free from Cheryl’s talons. “Jughead is _not_ an outlaw. He’s a Serpent. There’s a difference.”

Blinking, Cheryl allows her fingers to just barely caress Betty’s shoulder. “Oh my sweet cousin…you don’t really believe that, do you? I’m here, if you want to talk.”

Betty wants to roll her eyes so hard they shoot through her skull and into the ceiling. Instead, she burrows into her classroom and prays for relief.

It doesn't come. By third period everyone is talking about the violent newcomers, and eyes flitter excitedly across her budding bruise. Betty tries to hide it with her hand, knowing that if she lets her hair down that would just draw _more_ attention to herself.

Serpents glower at her in the halls, most likely out of deference to Jughead and the scene they made at his initiation. It’s humiliating, and she almost resents _them_ for Jughead’s indiscretions and lies. Jughead Jones thought he had to make a choice, a choice they probably pressured him to make. And he made it. He pushed her away just to have a piece of his past…a piece she may have let him have anyways. Maybe she just tried to cling to the way things were too tightly. Maybe she was afraid of the change he said would never come.

Shuddering off her still-tender emotions, she settles into her Honors English class. About five minutes later, the sight of Jughead’s familiar beanie strikes her with a full-body shiver. Jughead’s cool grey eyes flicker to her, pain a shadow on his face before he’s able to drop back into his usual surliness. He stuffs his hands in his leather jacket and tells the teacher, “I had to help some of the new students find their class. I’ll just…pick up where we left off.”

The class visibly shifts to look at Betty, who would love to shrink into an iron ball and sink straight through the floor. Thankfully the seats next to her are taken, so Jughead has to sit in the back, but a familiar ache moves through her bones as he passes by. It’s torture, anxiety clawing at her while she has to sit there and try to breathe when everyone’s staring at them. She desperately wants to turn and look at him, but the shame burning against her cheeks is too strong. He probably doesn’t even want her. He’s probably moved on with Toni. But it hasn’t been that long. Maybe…maybe he’s still…she starts to shift, turning, and she’s met with his cool, impassioned, angry gaze. His mouth is pressed against his knuckles, elbows on his desk. It’s got to be painful for him too. Her mouth opens, wanting to say something…anything. But once she starts, she’s afraid everything will come bubbling out, and she doesn’t want to open that can of worms in the middle of class. Confronting…consoling…confessing to him here would be like throwing a toaster into the bathtub of the drama surrounding Riverdale and their relationship.

Even turning around was a mistake. Her tongue feels too wet, like it _needs_ to do _something_. So she shifts to face front again. She can feel Jughead burning a hole in the back of her neck, not to mention their classmates’ hungry glances. Everyone waits for the end of the class, and Betty’s knees vibrate against the bottom of her desk she’s shaking so hard. Finally, the bell rings, and she bolts upright in the attempt to escape their prying eyes.

“Betty!” Jughead calls, voice low, almost an order.

Not here. Not with all these people. The slowest classmates on earth block her path to the exit. She’s considering crossing over to the next lane of desks when she feels his heat approach from behind.

“Betty,” he says again, softer, attempting to be more conversational. “Hey. I…tried calling you.”

Sighing, she closes her eyes against the pain laced in his voice. Their classmates slow in the hopes there’ll be more drama to report.

“It kept going straight to voicemail. You…block my number or something?” he asks, the faintest hint of desperation underlying it. Anger. Hurt. Betty’s familiar with these emotions, and her normal wave of sympathy is buried under layers or her own humiliation. She moves a little further back from the class to give them some semblance of privacy.

Sucking in a breath, Betty shakes her head, letting her ponytail bob in its answer. He waits for more.

“My mom took away my phone,” she responds quietly, one shoulder raising in a shrug.

“Oh.” He blinks, surprised, still following her with hesitancy. “She also take away the ladder?”

Betty frowns, surprised, borderline alarmed. “Why? Were you—?”

He interrupts before she can finish the train of thought. “I just—I wanted to clear the air, before coming back.”

“I know this wasn’t really your choice. Coming back, that is. But it’s probably for the best. Well, compared to the other stuff…”

Jughead gets physically uncomfortable with how much tension she’s keeping in avoiding his gaze.

He thought he’d return a prince of the campus, like he was at Southside. But here he feels…invisible…loathed…not even remotely respected, with or without his new crew and new look. It makes him want to curl his fist into a ball and punch the wall. Why can’t things…be _better_ than they used to? His gaze flickers to the budding bruise on her face. Stuffing his fists in his pocket to resist any temptation to comfort her, he still has to try. “I’m…I wanted to say I’m sorry. For earlier. Are you okay?” he asks, genuinely hopeful the bruise looks worse than it feels.

“Collateral damage, Jug,” she says dismissively, glancing the student in front of her in the hopes they will move a little faster. All they do is shoot a surreptitious glance over their shoulder, making it totally obvious they’re trying to listen to the painful conversation.

“I didn’t think things would get so explosive this morning. I mean, I know Cheryl’s mean and Reggie’s a bully, but—“

“He was out of line. You had to defend Toni. Yeah. I get it.” 

His face scrunches, a little offended. “Am I somehow the asshole in this situation? They literally crashed the welcoming committee with threats to get us expelled.”

“No, you're right, I just have to go,” she adds quietly, eyes flickering to the exit.

Jughead takes a deep breath, eyes shifting. “I don’t want things to be weird between us, Betty.”

“Neither do I.” Her voice sounds weird, even to her.

They both shift, trying to figure out what to say.

“So…are we friends?” he asks nervously, trying not to totally fall into his desperation.

“I don’t know, Jug. I don’t know if we can be,” she sniffs, tears already prickling at her eyes. This is all so _humiliating_. By now she should be cried dry.

“What does that mean?” he asks, voice tight.

It’s too awful for her to say aloud, so she lets her tongue sweep her mouth, searching for something else.

“What?” he demands, intensity building.

“There’s just…too many feelings there. I love..(d) you,” she breathes, aware of the way he lets out a breath, knowing she can’t even use the past tense yet. “You loved me. It was…intense. We were each other’s first loves. And now that you have Toni—“

“Now that I have all the Serpents, you mean?”

“Now that you have _Toni,”_ she repeats with a little more force than necessary, his face unreadable. “I don’t know where I fit in anymore. Am I your evil ex girlfriend? The love of your life? A friend? What? Were you even _happy_ about coming back to Riverdale High?”

The question takes him off guard, and she can tell by his expression he doesn’t want to share his answer.

Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. “It’s too hard, Jug. I can’t—I’m happy you’re here, but I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”

“Then when?” he demands.

“Soon. Hopefully.”

“That’s _vague_.”

“So’s ‘I’ll call you later,’” she says back with a surprising amount of snark.

His head leans back, surprised, his eyes taking on a new sheen as he moves to the offense. “Are you also going to fill me in on why my foster family suddenly’s been getting regular check-ins?”

Jughead watches her take in a deep, panicked breath, fingers needling her palms.

“They make me hide my skin, Betty. I had to move out of my Dad’s and stay with them after Keller suspected the Black Hood had taken interest in me. Now Keller’s not exactly the smartest guy, Betty, but I do know someone else who might want to make sure I’m kept away from the Serpents as much as possible. And it’s not Archie.”

Biting her lip, Betty closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can’t do this here. She can’t do this now. Whipping around, her elbow marks a path against the current, Jughead practically jogging to keep up with her.

“What the hell, Betty?! Why send Andrews and Sheriff Keller after me? Is this some stupid Cooper vendetta against the south side? Trying to restrict my freedom because we broke up?”

“I was trying to protect you, Jug,” she breathes, looking over her shoulder, still burrowing through the crowd.

“From what? The south side? I _liked_ it there, Betty. I loved it! And you want to take it all away!” Suddenly he’s full of so much anger he’s practically shaking in the middle of the hallway. "You knew how much living there meant to me, and you didn't care."

Her face falls into something like sympathy, irritation buried deep underneath. “Of course I _care._ Look, you have your new friends. You have a better school. You’re still living in the south side with people who are watching over you. _What_ is your problem?”

A lump lodges in his throat, and he decides to see what comes out of it. “Besides _you_ abandoning me the second I joined the Serpents? Besides the fact that I'm a foster kid whose dad is still in jail?Southside High was OURS. Closing it was a self-serving move by yet another north sider who has zero interest in the well-being of the south side community! So tell me-how involved were you and your mom in that little investigation?”

Her ponytail drags across her shoulders as she shoots glances in either direction. Clearly he’s glossing over the gangs and murders there, but it's true her mother and the other parents were responsible for the drug raid. “Jug, stop. We can’t do this here. You’re already in trouble for starting fights.”

“You mean finishing them,” he challenges, stepping up to her. “You mean standing up for what’s right, Betty? Go on and say it. Go on and tell me that you hate the south siders.”

“You know I don’t,” she breathes, avoiding his gaze. Specific ones, sure.

“Tell me that you hate me then,” he demands, breath hot on her face.

Hot tears pool in her eyes, and she shakes her head.

He licks his lips, leaning closer, wanting… _needing_ something. It’s almost like he _wants_ to be hurt, to be soothed all at the same time. “Then why did you break up with me? For running with them?”

The pain in her chest is too much. Too many people are watching, aware of how much he means to her.

“You were running _from_ me.” Angry tears well in her eyes. “I can’t keep _chasing_ you, begging you to let me in! And I’m sick of _questioning_ if you trust us! You lied to me! Do you understand that? You _lied_ to me and made me out to be the bad guy to your friends. Then you said it was for the best that we fall apart when we did. The only reason I even met your new girlfriend was because she walked in on us in the Red and Black.”

People slow around them, trying to listen in.

“So it’s my fault I didn’t _immediately_ run to your beck and call? Share every _second_ of my life with you, so you felt you could just cut it out entirely?” he thunders. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” she cries, chin dropping to her chest as she covers her face in frustration. “Jug—“

He doesn’t know why he’s yelling when he just wants to make up. His fingers sweep through the side of his hair, needing something to tug, to smooth. 

Her teary face rises, weary. “You know what? I’m sorry. I wanted to be a part of it. Whatever you were going through. For trying to force us to stay the same. For interfering in your life. It's yours. I know it's yours. But I. Can’t. Protect you. Do you understand that? I needed you to be protected.”

Everything in him bristles at the indignity, the pitiful expression on her face. It’s the reason he left Riverdale High in the first place. He takes care of himself. He always does.  And the fact that she doesn't get that after all she's been through with her parents, _astounds_ him. “I don’t need to be saved, Betty. I'm not...a project. The Serpents, unlike the citizens of Riverdale, have my back.”

“You think the friends who nearly beat you to death _care_ about you?” she asks, dubious. “That they can stand up to a faceless mask?”

“Hey! We Serpents defend out own!”

“Yeah! Got it! I’m not a Serpent! Never have been, therefore I mean _nothing_ to you,” she protests, “I’m not  _crazy_ for trying to keep you safe! For being scared of people who could do this to you!”

“ _You're_ the one who hurt me, Betty! _You_!" His eyes search hers, demanding her guilt. Satisfied, he finds it, and isn't sure whether to make it worse or make it better. "You don’t mean _nothing_  to me, but you're not _everything,_ and you _definitely_ don't have the right to take it away." The look on her face is heart-shattering. He's seen it before. On Homecoming. In Archie's garage. But each fight has brought them to a new, more honest place, so he continues. "I have obligations to this town! To my past! To my dad!” He was going to say _to_ _my friends_ , but the words die in his throat, along with any ounce of hope he has for this being a decent reunion when Archie thunders right up to them, broad shoulders ready for a fight.

“Is he bothering you, Betty?” Archie asks, staring down his former friend.

“Stay out of this, Archie.”

“Or you’ll what, Forscythe?”

The use of his name makes Jughead’s veins stand at attention, blood calling for a swing. Betty glares over at him, laying a reassuring hand on Archie’s bicep that doesn’t go unnoticed. “It’s fine, Arch. Jughead and I are just clarifying where we stand,” she says, eyes softly grazing his lips before looking away. The bell rings, and the two Riverdale High students glance up expectantly. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to finish this later,” she says softly, disengaging from the two boys and starting to walk away. Archie doesn’t back down.

“You have something you wanna say to me?” Jughead snaps, Betty’s blonde ponytail swaying softly in the background.

“You’re a crap boyfriend and a crap friend,” Archie offers.

“Like you’re friend of the year? Who was it that raided my dad’s trailer?” he practically demands, jutting his chin at Archie’s challenge.

“He was a murder suspect, Jughead. You were doing the same thing in Jason Blossom’s room. And as it turns out, FP _did_ do something. That’s why he’s in _prison_ , and our investigation was the only reason he’s even _close_ to getting out.”

“ _Our?_ ” Jughead almost grins incredulously, anger at mentioning his father’s indiscretion dissolving into disbelieving amusement at Archie’s delusion. “You mean Betty’s and mine’s?”

Ignoring the jab, Archie leans towards his former friend, voice low. “I told you not to hurt her.”

Scoffing, Jughead tries to lower his spiking adrenaline. No need to add more fuel to the fire of reasons to expel the Serpents, especially when they’re all so excited to be at a school with a functioning water fountain. “We’re in the same English class. It’s not exactly like I can avoid her. Or you, for that matter.”

“I don’t care what you do, Jughead. But if your or your friends do anything—and I mean _anything_ to hurt Betty…I will kill you.” The two former friends stare at each other, both offended, both completely serious.

“Does that threat stand for Reggie and your psycho welcoming committee?” he finally asks, tilting his chin in a jibe.

With one last warning glance, Archie steps around his former friend to get to class. “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Where’s Blondie?” Toni asks, looking around the lunchroom.

“Probably over there, with Ginger Judas,” Jughead rolls his eyes, not even glancing at his normal friend group. “There should be some tables open in the back.” Part of him wants to go on about how he should be able to pick whatever table he wants, but his Dad already gave him grief about wearing the leather jackets and to pick his battles better.

“She’s not there,” Toni frowns.

Irritated, Jughead glances from Toni’s puzzled face to his former friends, huddled in a corner and shooting his crew a few dirty looks. Even Kevin seems one thousand percent unimpressed, and normally he likes guys in leather. Suppressing the instinct to search her out, Jughead asks, “Does it matter?”

“Does it?” she asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Let’s just…go sit down. I haven’t eaten since 10.”

Nodding at his scowl, she takes a seat next to him.

“She’s probably at the Blue and Gold. She runs the newspaper here, by the way,” he mutters dejectedly, taking a huge bite out of the sad excuse of a sandwich in his hands. Normally Betty would share her lunch with him. Beautiful, homemade lunches courtesy of her or Alice. The memory makes the food taste like sand in his mouth.

The pink haired girl next to him studies his face carefully. “So…are we going to be able to join, or what?”

“I dunno. I dunno. We can ask after school.” He busies his hands readjusting his hat, shoving as much of his hair as he can under there. In fact, she worries that if he could, he’d shove his whole body under that thing and disappear entirely.

 

* * *

 

Blending in circles doesn’t seem to be doing much for Betty at this point. She sighs, irritated that the only concealer she has is from the summer when she was a bit more bronzed. The bruise just looks more yellow than anything else right now, and she can’t seem to get the purple under wraps. The bathroom door opens, and through the mirror Betty notices bountiful pink tendrils treading down a mocha-toned girl’s shoulders. Big brown eyes meet hers in surprise. Embarrassed without knowing why, Betty quickly turns her attention back to the bruise and the mirror.

“Trying to pretty up before a big date?” Toni sighs, unable to resist engaging with this clearly _hurting_ person in front of her.

“It’s for my mom,” Betty replies primly, pursing her lips. At Toni’s raised eyebrow, she clarifies. “We don’t need another rampaging parent calling in. And if my mom can’t reach the mayor, she’ll definitely try to put something in the paper.”

Toni’s surprised. Betty would protect them, even after her fallout with Jughead? “She’s…at least she’s trying to protect you,” Toni shrugs halfheartedly. At Betty’s eye roll, Toni sighs and leans against the stall, admitting, “I don’t even know where my mom is, to tell you the truth. But I can bet she doesn’t give a damn if some north sider called me a slut on my first day.”

The blonde at the mirror noticeably wilts, shoulders sagging. Her makeup-smeared fingers hover over the sink, ready to wash it away. “I’m sorry my mom called you a tramp. She’s really—she’s really protective.” Toni can see the waterworks threatening to spill from Betty’s eyes. For a minute she wonders if she’s misjudged this north side princess. “The day I wrote an article trying to defend FP and the Serpents, someone painted my locker in pig’s blood and called me a Serpent Slut. The next day Jughead was so upset he transferred to Southside High. I just…I’m really sorry. As a journalist, I know…I know that words can really hurt people…change them… _inspire_ …them,” now she’s choking on emotion, distraught at even the thought of the Black Hood, Jughead, and her explosive breakup.

“Hey…” Toni comes to her side, rubbing Betty’s back in light circles, something she _never_ imagined she’d be doing. “Hey, Betty, it’s okay. No one blames you for the way those jerks acted. There are bullies at every school. Why do you think Jughead joined the Serpents?” she offers a small smile, which is only met with bleary-eyed distress. Slowly removing her hand from Betty’s back, Toni sighs. “I know he lied about a lot of that stuff too. He’s just trying to do the right thing. Maybe you are too. We’re all doing our best with the hand we’re dealt, Betty.” When Betty’s misery doesn’t seem to let up, she takes a shallow breath. “Well…if it’s okay with you, Jughead and I were actually thinking of joining the Blue and Gold. He’s a great writer, and I’m actually a decent photographer.” For a moment Betty doesn’t respond beyond trying to catch her breath, seeming to be in _physical_ pain from the emotional stress. “I can show you some samples if you’d like…”

Betty shakes her head, and for a moment Toni feels her throat closing up. Another person dismissing her without getting to know her. “That won’t be necessary. I read all the Black and Red issues. You _are_ a good photographer. I’m sure you and Jughead make an excellent team.” The tears continue streaking silently streaking down her pretty face, but Betty doesn’t even seem to notice anymore. Toni isn’t sure if she should call somebody. A friend? A therapist? But she doesn’t know this blonde girl’s world beyond that Jughead has a beef with the redhead friend. She actually feels kind of bad for flaunting her newfound influence over Jughead back in the day. It was a basic bitch move. It’s just a natural instinct when everyone already thinks you’re trash. Strike them before they attack you.

“O—okay. We’ll see you after school?”

Nodding mutely, Betty swallows against the anxiety wriggling in her stomach like tiny little worms. But she won’t clench her palms, not here, with makeup still caked on her fingers just waiting to infect her skin.

 

* * *

 

“She said what?” Jughead asks, dubious. “Just like that? We’re in?”

“Yeah. She said she’s read all the issues of the Black and Red,” Toni shrugs, flipping a bit of hair over her shoulder. “Our first meeting is today. Congratulations, Jones. You’re back on the team.”

Blinking, confused, Jughead leads her to the neat little newspaper office. The room would scream Betty if it was more pastel and less green. The walls are covered in photos, happy memories from the year. He doesn’t have the heart to check if the ones of the two of them are still up there. In one corner, a tack board with the Black Hood murders and letters is littered with notes. Toni arches an eyebrow. This is way more than football games and the gossip column Jug and her mocked. But to be fair, she hadn’t really read the whole paper. And based on the turnout, it was really only done by Betty and one other tall judgmental kid she recognized from the code-breaking party. Joaquin’s ex, Kevin.

“Hi,” Betty smiles awkwardly. Betty and Kevin exchange a wary glance, Betty clearly attempting to be cordial.

“Welcome. Um, you remember Kevin? Kevin, you remember Toni…and Jughead,” she finishes uncomfortably, her hand gesture slowly going to fix her ponytail in an attempt to find something to do with her hands other than dig them in until she bleeds.

“I remember. Homewrecker. Homewrecked,” Kevin nods, lips pursed. He's not Betty's bestie again, but they do talk. She figures he may be a little safer than some, especially considering he spends a lot of time helping his dad at the Sheriff's office these days.

“ _Love_ the gossip column, Kev,” Jughead snarks, crossing his arms.

“Readers really enjoy it,” Betty interjects amicably, trying to smooth things over. “Plus, we had to fill space after you…” she clears her throat.

Toni shares a sidelong glance with Jug, who looks a little guilty, a flush creeping up his neck.

Betty continues as if there was no pause. “I hear you both are interested in…contributing,” she glances at a scowling Kevin, silently suggesting he play nice. “Do you have any article ideas?”

“Yeah. How about the segregation of North and South side at Riverdale High? Or...angry parents and the drug raid that closed an entire school, displacing all of its students? Discrimination in foster care placement...” He has more. As always.

Toni’s a little more diplomatic. “I was thinking of a student profile of the new kids. Candid photos? A Goodbye to Southside High?”

Ignoring Jughead, Betty focuses in on Toni’s suggestion. “That sounds like a great way to get to know the new students of Riverdale High. Maybe we can take that idea and expand it into something accessible for all students without singling anyone out, like why people come together in groups in the face of tragedy.”

“Is that what we’re doing now? Soft-core interest pieces?” Jughead sounds affronted, disgusted even. “What happened to hard-hitting news?”

She knows he’s angry. At her. At Archie. Betty attempts to be diplomatic. “Riverdale never had a Red Circle before, but the Serpents have existed for generations as a way to survive, right? The Red Circle is a response to a serial killer on the loose. Everyone who joins a gang—even something as simple as the football team—is looking for allies. They don’t want to feel alone…isolated. Even the killer—“ she shakes her head. “Writing the _why_ may help people stop attacking each other and realize we _all_ need to help each other. North and South side alike. It may even help us profile the killer.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Toni muses, unimpressed, but Jughead’s hesitant glare makes her change her mind. “I think we could do it, don’t you, Jones?”

Biting his lip, Jughead scowls. “Yeah, fine. But I expect to get back to this discrimination case.”

Kevin and Betty share an eye roll. “Great,” Betty mutters, and Toni notices the way Jughead’s gaze lingers on her bruise, his brows knit together.

_These two are stupidly into each other. But this is Serpent life. We push other people away so we won’t get hurt._

Toni rolls her eyes too, but part of her is jealous. She’s never had someone to push away who hasn’t left her first. She’s never seen Jughead as affectionate as at the Red and Black when he wrapped his hand around Betty’s shoulder, shyly grinning and introducing Betty as his _girlfriend_. Like he knew she was way out of his league. Come to think of it, she hasn’t really seen him _smile_ with any conviction since then.

“So are you two dating?” Kevin asks suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. Betty’s mouth drops open in surprise, folding her arms in front of her chest, glancing at the two Serpents in apprehension. “iIt’s just a simple question for my gossip column,” he clarifies a little meanly.

Toni and Jughead exchange a wary glance. Betty instinctively reached out to hold onto Kevin’s arm. They may not be back to being besties, but he is still _there_ for her.

“No,” Toni responds, panicked, turning back to them. A little nervous chuckle escapes the back of her throat. “No, we’re just…friends.”

“Good friends?” Betty asks shyly, biting her lip and glancing over at Jughead, who’s wound so tight he looks like he’s about to leave.

“Because it seems like there’s something there,” Kevin adds, studying them like a hawk.

“I—no. I don’t _think_ so,” Toni shrugs. It’s so noncommittal, but it’s the truth. Toni looks away, taking in a breath as Jughead seethes beside her. He’s way more drama than he’s worth, sometimes. She’s glad that nothing happened in the trailer that night. Or any other night, really.

“It’s none of your business, Kevin,” Jughead snaps. “We can date whomever we want. With or without your permission…or your gossip coverage.”

“Actually,” Kevin starts, standing a little taller, even so brave as to take a few steps closer. “It is my business, ever since you abandoned the paper, abandoned Betty, and took up with a gang.”

“I did _not_ … _abandon her._ ” Jughead stutters, pain drawn out through each syllable. He _knows_ abandonment, and that is _not_ something he’d ever do to someone he loved. He wouldn’t leave Betty.

“Jug—“ she starts softly. Betty’s gaze subconsciously travels to a photo from Homecoming, the night he was going to run away. Jughead blinks away angry tears and focuses in on the anger itself. 

“Forget it. We’ll talk later. Come on, Toni, we better start the article before _Us Weekly_ tries to get a photo,” Jughead snaps, turning on his heel and storming out of the office.

Betty turns to Kevin, eyes wide. He shrugs. “Figured it was worth a shot. They’re not hooking up, by the way. But they’ve thought about it.” A sharp pain shoots across Betty’s face. “It’s totally not going to happen, though. Did you see her face? Classic. Anyways. I’ll have _lots_ to do for this week’s column!”

Kevin’s gloating is interrupted by the familiar figure of her mother bursting into the room. Her face is tear-streaked, red with emotion. “Betty?! Betty, are you all right?” Her mother surges forward, barely even waiting for an answer before collapsing into her daughter's arms.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Betty sits up in an attempt to gather her mom in her arms, alarmed. This seems like an overreaction to the whole merging schools thing.

“He came back!” is all her mother sobs, and it’s enough to send Betty spiraling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this chapter was painful to write and edit. Hopefully it's not TOO painful to read. I have a much fluffier fic in the works if you need a pick-me-up T-T SO. Betty's got some new not-so-helpful coping techniques. Black Hood is getting antsy to try and convert Betty to his dark and evil ways. Jug is actually with his foster parents. Part of me really wants them to be Tall Boy's family because I just imagine the awkward family dinners. Alice is a wreck. But it'll get better. Riiiight? Also don't be mad about the cliffhanger. New chapter is being edited. Don't worry. Jug's alive. Betty's alive. Love's alive. Yay. Also for some reason even though the Bughead parts are more raw, I am legit depressed about the way Beronica is falling apart too. Love those girls and their friendship


	4. Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty recovers from the Black Hood's most recent attack, prompting her to sort out reconciliations before it's too late. But there may be a way to help protect them against attacks, or at the very least deter them.

_We must do better…_

The sidewalk thumps under her feet, the sweat clinging to her skin as she excretes the pain in the only way she knows how. Her hair is free-falling behind her, pulsing against her shoulders. The unused elastic against her wrist keeps pressure against her veins, forcing her brain and heart to work overtime.

She keeps pounding pavement until it hurts to breathe, and even then only stops when she’s reached Sweetwater River, letting the cool morning fog wash over her, its secrets filling her lungs like poison.

It’s her father. He’s been stabbed.

And it’s all her fault.

_It’s HIS fault_ , her brain tries to reason, but her heart is pounding too hard, overriding everything else.

_It was the Black Hood, with the knife, at the Register_ , her mind recites, as if she’s declaring a guess in Clue. But she doesn’t have anything. Just that he was at the town hall meeting, potentially religious, and most likely a male. But her father is innocent in the Black Hood’s eyes, which is why he wasn’t killed, just harmed. Just enough to get her attention.

“You can’t hide from this forever,” her father warned, watching her carefully. “Betty… _you’re better than this._ ”

The words reverberate in her chest, knocking anything other than anxiety out of the running. Like the strive for perfection isn’t enough. Now people’s _lives_ are on the line again. Her mother still refuses to give up the phone, but her father…strangely enough, her father offered her a burner phone. She didn’t take it, despite his insistence that he needs to know where she is and that she’s safe. Her parents think the bruise is from Vixens practice. Now she’s running.

_No, Dad. I’m not safe. No one is safe here anymore._

 

* * *

 

The hallways are a blur for Betty, everything a mumble against the rushing words she’s trying to piece together. When her teachers aren’t talking, she’s nibbling on her lips, trying to put together whatever pieces she can. She doesn’t even feel Jughead’s curious gaze in English when she doesn’t raise her hand for a single question, her hair in a haphazard low ponytail. When the class ends, Jughead hovers behind, watching her scurry to the next class on autopilot, her brow constantly furrowed, working through something.

“Are you okay?” he asks, still unsure where they stand. It’s a stupid question, but she barely registers it.

“I’m…yeah. New project,” is all she says, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“That’s your puzzle-solving face.” When she doesn’t say anything, he tries a little gentler. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about yesterday.”

Her face drains of color, eyes wide with panic.

“Betty, what—“ His hand reaches instinctively for her shoulder, finding the familiar tension knot under his palm. “What’s going on with you?” She swallows, glancing down the hallway. “Is it me? Us? Is it…Toni?” he asks softly, a little embarrassed. “I was just mad yesterday, and Kevin was getting on my nerves. Nothing’s happening…nothing’s _happened_ with her, or anyone else for that matter.”

Although a little color returns to her cheeks, Betty still looks pale, sick. Her voice waivers, fearful eyes searching his for the truth. “Did you want it to?”

The idea seems ridiculous. It’s not like he fantasized about Toni. Never once let his gaze wander to her lips, got jealous of Sweet Pea’s bond, nothing like that. But he did want _something_. He just never really knew _what_ until he was embarrassed about how often Betty was checking in, how exciting and _weird_ it was for Toni’s hand to curl around his shoulder in the Black and Red.

“No. It was just…different,” Jughead admits quietly. “Being sought-after. See what it was like on the other side, where being Jughead Jones _meant_ something.”

“Jughead,” Betty starts, brow furrowing. “It still means something. It’s _you_.” When he shakes his head, unconvinced, she pulls back, looking wounded. “Was my love…not enough for you?”

The urge to join—to lead the Serpent family doesn’t feel like it has anything to do with Betty. It probably has something more to do with his Dad, to do with his own family bailing. Betty’s slipping away from him, eyes clouding over in rejection. For a panicked second he thinks he knows how Archie felt when she left him on the front lawn after he said he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. Disappointing Betty Cooper, making her feel like _she’s_ not good enough, is like pouring cement straight down his throat.

“No, Betty, your love was…” he grasps for the right word, which of course is the absolute wrong one. “Perfect…it’s just—“ She steps back, breathing heavily. “I felt like I didn’t belong in Riverdale—that I didn't belong…with you,” he finishes lamely, arms already sore from wanting to embrace her. Trying to wipe the stricken look off her face, he tries to explain. “Everything you warned me about— _everything_ came true. The Ghoulies beat me up, the Serpents rejected me unless I joined them. I just wanted…I wanted one thing that was _mine_ , one thing that wasn’t a mistake, that didn’t come with judgment from everyone else, like _what are you doing here?_ People _respected_ me at Southside High. I had a trailer, I had new friends who didn’t know me since I was three. I felt like I was growing up, but everyone including you kept trying to take it away, like I was making some huge mistake.” His hand massages the tension knot, drawing her closer again. “And I did, Betty. I did if I didn’t…if I didn’t make you feel like I loved you, _wanted_ you anymore.”

She shifts, uncomfortable, still not sure if she should trust what he says. But his eyes are so earnest, and it’s the first time in a _while_ she’s heard him admit he did anything wrong. It’s probably physically painful for him to do it. “I’ll always love you, Jug,” she admits quietly, hesitating.

“But?” His heady gaze traces her jaw, her lips, settling on her uncertain green eyes.

The saliva in her throat feels gooey, stuck. “I’m not sure now’s the best time to rekindle things.” Before he can protest or fall apart, her hand shoots out to smooth his cheek. “It’s not that I don’t love you. I do. There’s just…other people that need to be dealt with first. Other things…that I need to prepare for.”

“Who, your mom, and the grounding from here to eternity?” He knows she’s in deep if her phone’s been taken away. After the scene at the trailer, Alice probably thinks he’s a scumbag (okay maybe he deserves it a _little_ ), but Betty usually isn’t one to back down from Mrs. Cooper. Betty’s bright green eyes implore him to keep guessing, and he notes the way her teeth worry her lip, just like she’s solving another puzzle.

His thumb brushes her shoulder, testing as he tries to work through the options. “Betty, where are your _friends_? I mean, I assumed when I left for south side you’d still be hanging with Veronica and the gang, but I haven’t seen you in the student lounge _or_ at lunch. Where have you been hiding?”

Trembling, she rolls her shoulder out of his grasp. Her expression stutters between resigned guilt and self-preserved sacrifice, like she’s been yelled at by Alice one too many times. “It’s a long story, but they’re all mad at me right now.”

“Why?”

Heaving a big sigh, Betty meets his blue eyes with her green ones. “The day before…” she doesn’t mention _which_ day, but the vortex of awful in his chest knows which she refers to. “Veronica threw a party for her New York friend Nick St. Claire. He brought out drugs, and I was the only one who wouldn’t use them.”

“So? They can’t be mad at you for _not doing drugs._ ” Anyone who thought Betty would even be _near_ the stuff was probably insane.

“I, um, I yelled at them,” she shrugs mildly, looking down the hall. “I called them shallow and some other things,” she sighs, as if even telling the story exhausts her. “Then my Mom found out about the party after Nick tried to rape Cheryl the next day.”

“ _What?!_ ” The thought of _anyone_ trying to hurt Cheryl, who was already a strong, walking cherry bomb, astounds him. He wants to go kick his ass, but by the offhand way Betty was retelling the story, it sounded like somebody already had.

“The parents all came around and made everyone, including me, do community service.”

“That doesn’t sound _that_ bad,” Jughead reasons, hands tugging at her collar since they keep wanting to smooth Betty’s skin. He kind of hopes that the friends fallout is the reason she was so sensitive that day at the trailer. Maybe things can be smoothed over. Maybe things can be smoothed over between _them_. Betty bites her lip, looking up at him with an almost pleading expression. “What?” he asks, nervous.

“It…it _was_ my mom and the other parents who started the drug raid on south side after Nick and some of the others confessed where they were getting the drugs.” Jughead has to take a step back, plying his mouth in frustration as he paces around her, needing to _do_ something about the injustice of it all, but knowing there’s nothing that can be done _now_. Southside is gone. The Serpents _like_ it here. It’s just him that feels like he’s been reduced to nothing. No Archie. No Betty. No trailer. No kingdom of South Side High. Betty moves forward, eyes glassy but her voice steadying amidst emotion. “I’m…I’m sorry, Jug. I didn’t think they’d take it that far and close the whole school. I thought maybe they’d just take in the Ghoulies and that would be the end of it.”

“You think Mayor McCoy gives two jots about what’s best for the kids on the south side?” he asks bitterly, not at her, just at this corrupt town he used to love. “You think she cares that the Ghoulies were the only stain on south side soil, never mind what happens to the actual rest of the culture that lives there?”

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, shrugging. “There’s more to the story, Jug, but with things going how they are,” her eyes fill with tears again, but she angrily shakes them away, sheer determination setting herself straight. He’s so focused on her face that he doesn’t see her clenching her fists. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, so I’ve just sort of accepted all the hate directed at me. I probably deserve it, on some level. I’m sorry that…” She takes a deep breath, not quite able to spill the words.

Her sincerity is just so _Betty_ that it’s impossible for him to _stay_ mad at her without feeling guilty himself. Jughead stands warily just a few steps away, eyeing her without fully facing her, knowing that the civil war in Riverdale is still going to try and pull them apart. He’s still angry about everyone trying to erase the Serpents. They’re all afraid of what they don’t understand, trying to smother it out like some dystopian book-burning society.

Even the more enlightened, sympathetic Betty is afraid of the gangs, doesn’t _understand_ them, no matter how much she tries to. She’s never been homeless, never been battered beyond the accidental elbow of Reggie Mantle. And yet he wants to keep her that way. Pure. Untouched by the corruption (by what he’s becoming). He wants to smooth her bruises and kiss it all away, knowing that taking care of her feels like taking care of himself too.

But when she was trying to take care of him it felt stifling, humiliating, like she was trying to exert some kind of control, just reaffirming that he’s broken and needs fixing. He longed for and resisted her attempts to nurture him, to make him whole and _fix_ his lonely angry heart, whereas the Serpents want to use the jagged edges of their brokenness to make a world where it can be used as strength. But he can’t form that in words to Betty, so he just eyes her longingly, not sure where to go from here.

“I’m sorry too,” is all he mutters, not sure if that’s enough. His hands feel empty. When it comes to Betty Cooper, he’s not sure if anything will be enough. 

She bristles with relieved anticipation, her fingers reaching for his arm, but before he gets the sweet relief of contact she seems to shudder amidst a moment of clarity, drawing back. “I have to take care of something. I—we’ll talk later.” Before she turns away, she hesitates, a moment of earnestness between them. “Thank you. For the apology.”

A prickling, uncomfortable heat spreads through his chest, warming all the way up to his throat. It’s not fight or flight. He wants to stay. He watches her walk away, slowly letting it sink in that she may want to come back, even if it’s only to talk. The relief is painful, worrisome, and he has to physically prevent himself from comparing her to his family. Because at some point, Betty was… _is_ his family, and he knows part of him has to resist pushing her away as punishment for what his did to him. Resisting the fearful hope swelling within him, Jughead inwardly sighs when he sees Kevin attempt to stall her in the halls, no doubt trying to get a blurb for his gossip column. Annoyed, he turns away and heads to class, shoving his hands in his pockets and wondering what, if anything, he’ll have to say to the Serpents when he and Betty get back together. _When?_ he thinks to himself. _Yes, when._

 

“Betty, what are you doing here?” Kevin asks, still recovering from seeing her reconciling something with her gangster ex. “Your Dad was _stabbed._ By the Black Hood.” They’re almost late for class, but the information has been sitting on his chest all day. He hadn’t even gotten to tell Archie this morning, and heaven knows Betty’s life is still a sore subject for Veronica.

“I know, Kev. I just—“ she readjusts her bag, moving forward. “I need some time. The Black Hood’s on the prowl again and I have to figure out—just don’t tell anyone about my Dad yet, okay?”

“Why?” he asks, confused. “And what are you doing with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tamed?”

The nickname almost earns him a smile, but Betty’s so wrought with tension she can’t do anything but open her mouth. “I’m just…I’m putting together an initiative for the student body and I don’t want them thinking it’s only because of my Dad or Jughead or…whatever.”

“But people will know, Betty. This is _Riverdale_.”

“I know. I know, Kev. Just…please.” It’s a good thing she’s got those doe-eyes that take up half her face, because it _does_ make it difficult to go against her. Even though he’s still a little miffed about the Beronica betrayal, he relents.

“Fine.” Kevin straightens, clearly not happy about it.

 

* * *

 

News hasn’t hit about Hal’s “accident,” so it takes everyone by surprise when Betty approaches the Bulldogs during lunch, asking them something, nodding in confirmation. Jughead’s ears tinge pink, watching the footballers like Reggie nod in surprise and say something about after school. Archie’s gaze lurks too, narrowing in confusion. Betty disappears just as quickly as she made her appearance.

“Want me to go after her?” Toni asks, gnawing on a french fry.

“No,” Jughead murmurs, eyes still lingering on the door windows to see if she passes.

Betty ties her hair back higher and flexes her palms, pacing the wrestling room. Thankfully her gym uniform covers more than her Vixens one, but Reggie shows up in his regular clothes.

“Hey Cooper, do you really think you’re down for this?” Reggie asks, stretching his arms.

“It’s either you or the Serpents, and I’m pretty sure you don’t carry a switchblade on you, right Reggie?” she almost-teases, too focused to let the smile reach her eyes.

At the mention of the Serpents, Reggie’s gaze darkens. “Hell no. Let’s do this Cooper. You want lessons in self-defense? You got it.”

Reggie is calm, helpful, and most of all…serious as he takes her through the steps of defense. He helps her perfect a punch without smashing her thumbs, not noticing the scars in her palms as she fake-thrusts them against his chin. His hands don’t wander beyond her hips to guide her to the sturdiest stance. Betty is sweating, but feels better, more precise with this knowledge stored away in her reserves. Some other Bulldogs have trickled in, the unofficial Red Circle helping each other with different grips, moves, and tactics on the rest of their lunch break.

“Okay,” she nods. “Now I want you to attack me.”

Taken aback, Reggie frowns at her. “You sure, Betty?” She nods. “Okay, how do you want it?”

“Like a self-righteous coward.”

“They’re either going to attack one of two ways. The first is from behind, which, honestly, is sometimes easiest. The second is if it’s someone you know. They’re going to attack you up close…or with a hostage.”

“Whatever way you want to try first,” Betty breathes, lowering her fists.

“What are you doing? Hands up, Cooper!” Reggie encourages.

She flexes her fingers against her palms, noting the absence of wanting to bury them. Curled, poised, she feels powerful for once. “I’m…I know the Black Hood won’t attack when I’ve got my hands up, so I want to test my reaction time.”

“Okay,” Reggie shrugs, getting down low into position.

Moose starts towards her, but she barely hears him, the white noise echoing in her ears as she focuses on Reggie. The Bulldog in front of her nods, and suddenly a hand is on her shoulder, pulling her back into a headlock.

Gasping, her fingers pry at the arm, as if she can pull it away. The pressure of his arm tightening around her throat sends her into panic. Reggie taught her a better way. Squeezing her eyes shut, she works up the courage to do it. She steps on his foot with all she can muster, throwing elbows at his ribs as hard as she can, ears burning against his arm as she burrows away.

“Ow, Betty!” Moose admonishes, pushing her away as if he’s been offended on a personal level.

Reggie eyes her with the discerning nod of a coach. “Not bad, but you didn’t even hear Moose come up when I was talking to you. They call it tunnel vision…it happens when you’re hit with adrenaline. You have to remember that there could always be more than one threat involved. We don’t know that this Black Mask isn’t more than one killer.”

Her eyes are as wild as her ponytail right now, panting as she tries to take everything in. Moose almost looks sympathetic. “Sorry, Betty,” he mumbles, hand scrubbing the back of his hair.

“I want to try it again,” she demands, widening her stance.

Reggie sighs, hands on his hips as he surveys the gym. “One more. You’ll grapple with me this time. Now I’m going to ask that you don’t bite, scratch, or get me in the gonads, but you better claw the fuck out of whoever’s _really_ trying to get you, you understand?”

“Yes.” The ’s’ sits against her tongue as a promise to herself, a promise to Riverdale.

Reggie’s more powerful than anyone she’s had to fight before, and as he tackles her by the waist, her legs scramble to find purchase on the floor beneath them to move her hips back. Groaning, she falls, and Reggie quickly takes her arms and pins them above her head, struggling to keep them there as she wriggles against the soreness of her muscles.

“Now what, Cooper?” He’s not mocking, but encouraging.

“Now…I—“ Breathing labored, she shifts her legs to try and wrap her feet in front of his neck and shoulders, pushing him back.

“Good, good,” he encourages, even as he struggles against her.

Any impulse Alice may have driven into her to appear ladylike while exerting herself is gone in the adrenaline-fueled, teeth-grinding push to get Reggie Mantle on his back. “Now here’s where you’d normally kick me in the face,” Reggie coaches, edging his head away “But don’t actually do that now. I’m still stronger. I’m still on top. How are you gonna get me down, Coop?”

Her leg shifts inside, underneath his arm to try and shove him to the right-hand side.

“Niiice,” he cheers, rolling a little, moving his head so he’s not completely squashed. They end up slightly on their sides, Bulldogs crowding around for a better view. “Come on, Coop. Don’t give up on me now. What are you doing to do?” Rocking her weight back and forth, Betty is able to get a few inches of her arms back, especially now that one of his hands is moving to reposition her leg so she has less purchase. Her knee goes straight for his ribs and he gasps, half-laughing amidst a groan. “Okay, for that one I might have to squash you a little.”

Reggie moves from his knees to a squat and grabs Betty’s ankle, twisting her over so she’s on her back. But the new position means her hands are almost free. Before she can throw an elbow back in his face, Reggie climbs atop her and wraps his forearm around her neck. “Now what?”

“Get off her, Reggie!” she hears, and suddenly a huge weight knocks both of them onto their stomachs, skidding across the wrestling matts. The grumblings of the Bulldogs fade into the background as two boys scuffle basically on top of Betty’s leg, shoving each other and scrambling. Archie slips and crashes on one leg, pushing Reggie back with the other.

“What the hell, man? We’re just wrestling!”

“I can _see_ that!” Archie spits, furious, protective big brother vibe written all over him. “What the hell are you doing wrestling with a girl?”

“I _asked_ him to!” Betty protests, attempting to lock him in with her legs to prevent him from lurching at Reggie again. Sputtering, confused, Archie turns to her. “I wanted them to teach me self defense. You know…with the Black Hood and all.”

Muscles move against her legs and arms. Betty’s fairly sure her mother would be horrified and Kevin would be drooling amidst the Reggie-Archie sandwich, but she’s just irritated. “Yeah, your girl Betty almost got in the middle of a Serpent fistfight the other day. Us Bulldogs have to stick together.” Reggie brushes himself off defensively, feet in front of him as he sits on the floor right next to the childhood duo.

“Well, why didn't you ask me?” Archie asks, righteous fury melting into concern. “I would protect you, Betty.”

“I want to be able to protect _myself_ ,” she grimaces, loosening her feet from around his waist. “Besides, I think this is something _all_ of Riverdale could benefit from. We need some kind of self-defense. We can’t count on the Red Circle to be around at all hours. I was going to suggest voluntary classes for people interested after school. You’re not promoting violence. It’s…literally teaching people how to fight for their lives.”

Mulling, Archie licks his lips, glancing from Reggie and the other raised eyebrows in the room. “That’s a really good idea, Betty.”

“I know. Now get off of me before Veronica castrates you.”

 

* * *

 

The Principal always looks like he has something distasteful lurking just under his nose. But he’s vaguely hospitable as he steps aside for Betty in the auditorium. Her voice is steady, sure, as she describes the self-defense initiative and how they’ll be meeting during lunch and certain days after school. This Sunday they’d even have a shuttle if someone didn’t feel safe leaving the house to attend a session, so the sign up sheet for that would be in the Blue and Gold.

Confused, Jughead’s lip quivers just beneath his teeth. Sweet Pea stands up in outrage, gesturing to a few of the not-so-welcoming committee in the front. “Are you saying those bullies, those people who tried to start fights with us south siders, are supposed to protect us?”

Toni reaches for his sleeve, trying to pull him down, but he waves her away, even as Betty takes a deep breath to brace herself to try and reason with him.

“Any prior violence was an act of fear. The volunteers are going to help us learn how to defend ourselves so _all_ of us can feel safer. Police, our parents, our friends—can’t be relied on to protect us at every second. With these tools, we’re hoping Riverdale will feel a little bit safer,” she recites diplomatically, trying not to make it obvious that she’s shaking.

“The only thing protecting us against a gun is another gun,” Sweet Pea calls. “Learned that the hard way with Andrews,” he announces, turning to the redhead. Veronica scowls at the Serpent in his defense. The Principal motions to security.

Betty sighs, nails digging into the ridge on her platform, leaving indents next to where her notecards lay. Jughead’s eyes flicker to her hands, keenly aware of her anxiety lurking under the surface. “The Black Hood usually comes up at close range, which means he may be familiar to some of us. So far we’re aware he’s used whatever’s on hand. A bow,” her eyes flicker to a shifting Archie, “A gun, and a kitchen knife. The Black Hood may not even be just one person. Our defensive workshops are to help keep people alive whether there’s a weapon on hand or not. We’ll have potential scenarios to walk through as well. Whether you choose to use this or not is up to you. I’ve been through the workshop, and I feel stronger having worked with the team, knowing new methods of attack and defense which I think will benefit all of Riverdale, its students included.”

Before the Sweet Pea can protest again, Principal Weatherby takes the stand back and dismisses the assembly, hauling Sweet Pea and Archie into his office, Veronica scuttling behind. Almost immediately Betty is swarmed by the Vixens, Cheryl demanding to know how the hell she’s supposed to deal with someone like Reggie wrestling her to the ground.

“I did it,” Betty says simply. “You’d be surprised what you can do, with or without the weight to guide you. Getting a guy like Reggie on his back is hard work, but—“

“Not too hard for you, Cooper!” Reggie winks, moving in to assist with the questions, his hand tapping the middle of her back.

Jughead feels like all the air is squeezed out of him like in one of those cartoons with the flume-pumper accordions. The thought of Reggie Mantle on top of Betty Cooper or vice versa is enough to make his teeth crack from pressure.

His fist clenches into a fist, and before he loses his cool he slips into the hall, away from his gang and their condescending comments on the “idealistic princess” and how well she or any of the Bulldogs would do in an actual fight with a murderer when their asses were whooped by the Serpents the other night in the rain. He knows Betty didn’t do anything with meathead Reggie Mantle besides self-defense training, but the thought of it all makes him sick. Why should she _need_ that _here_?

He’s been picturing her a lot lately, his writer’s mind painting colorful, garish horrors to plague him at random times during the day. Crying on her bed, Archie watching from the other side of the street instead of running over to her. Gutted, a warning from the Ghoulies. Tied up, gagged by a man in a black mask. Sometimes he doesn’t need his imagination. He can picture some things in the crystalline haze of his memory. Her cheeks streaked with blood and tears as she begs him not to leave her in the trailer, turning her back on him before disappearing into her mother’s car. Eyes bright, hopeful, while she waits in the pregnant pause between “Also” and their first kiss. Flushed, smiling against his kitchen cabinets as he presses them together. Scared, hiding between the doorway, whispering his name as he coats himself in leather.

His fist slams into a locker nearby, wincing at the painful reminder of the snake bite on his right hand. This was supposed to be _better_. For _everyone_.

Okay, for him. But it just feels like everything is ten times worse.

 

* * *

 

“Jug—“ Betty calls, running into the hall.

“What?” he sighs, feeling exhausted and raw.

The stark contrast of his pale skin and dark hair strikes her as beautiful in the middle of the cold hallway. She shivers, slowing now that she’s caught him.

“I…I think you should come.”

He shoves his thumbs in his pockets, tilting his head back. “Why? So Reggie can beat me up at lunch now?”

She takes a deep breath, knowing he won’t like what she has to say. “No. Because I think you need it.”

He arches an eyebrow at her, only slightly joking when he asks, “The beating or the self defense?”

“I think you’ve been beaten enough for the both of us…for a lifetime,” she says quietly. They swallow against the awkwardness, eyeing each others bruises.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. Her eyes search his, not quite knowing the words to say. It feels like her shoulders are swelling, holding the weight of this stupid, horrible secret.

“Jug, the Black Hood—“

Alert, he shifts against the lockers. This isn’t how he thought the talk would go, but adrenaline forces him to stop dwelling on the state of their relationship and focus on Riverdale’s biggest puzzle yet. “Did he contact you again?”

“He knows about you, Jughead.” The dark-haired boy pauses, staring at the floor for a few seconds in stunned acknowledgement before looking up to brave the rest of it. “He told me—he told me _specifically_ not to talk to you.”

Jughead’s gasp is nothing compared to the scathing outrage brewing behind his eyes. “ _What?_ ” Those stormy eyes swirl with something vibrant and angry. Angry _at_ her or _for_ her remains to be seen.

Absently rubbing her fingertips on her palms, Betty decides to just be honest. “You know how the Black Hood sent me the letter? Well, after you and I stormed the Town Hall meeting, he started _calling_ me.”

Incensed, Jughead moves towards her, as if he’s going to rip the disembodied voice apart, summoning him out of thin air. “What? From what number? Is he still—“

“It was a blocked number and he used a voice synthesizer.” Interrupting him seems easier than waiting for the storm to subside. Thankfully Jughead seems willing to listen, take a back seat while she explains. “He started threatening me, saying he wanted me to himself and if I told anybody, especially you, especially the police, another person would die. First he wanted me to get rid of Veronica, and then that night…” she takes a deep breath, unable to avoid his searching, desperate stare. “He asked me to cut you out of my life, or he would.”

Jughead visibly swallows, angled towards her in morbid fascination. “Is that…is that why…”

“Not entirely,” she says softly, Jughead’s face falling into miserable acceptance. His fingers rake through his hair, shoveling it under his beanie with anxiety. “With everything going on, with finding out I’d been lied to,” Betty almost feels bad for making Jughead shrink by the second. “I mean, I really felt betrayed. I felt like…you didn’t even want me anymore. You wanted _them_ , but _only them_. I…I thought I’d lost you.”

The tears come, but thankfully they’re silent, no sobs or sniffs needed as they carve a path down her cheeks. Jughead shifts, instinctively needing to be closer to her. The emotional pull tugs his hands to her shoulders, finding a place of reassurance. “How could you ever lose me, Betty? I love you.”

“I thought you died, Jug,” she clarifies, blue-green eyes reflecting with tears. He shakes his head, not understanding. “I followed you to the gauntlet, I filmed everything,” Jughead’s eyes widen in alarm, “and at the end…when Sweet Pea…” she turns her head, closing her eyes and unleashing fresh salty tears down her cheeks. Breathing seems impossible, uneven for both of them as his hands finally clasp on her shoulder and neck. “You didn’t get up, Jug. I thought…I thought I’d lost you.”

“Betty,” Jughead starts, voice low, raw, compassionate, and still somehow lost. At her choked sob, he pulls her close, tightening his arms around her until their bodies are flush with one another. She clings to her lifeline, something she hasn't had in what feels like months. It’s insane how fast everything changes in Riverdale, but right now she’s just praying that her and Jughead grow back together even faster than they were torn apart.

“You can’t even _imagine_ what that was like, Jug. To watch you willingly walk into that and not see you get up, knowing that the Black Hood was just waiting to do the same thing. I—I couldn’t—“

“I _can_ imagine what that’s like, Betty” Jughead interrupts, pulling back to swipe the tears off her cheeks. Bewildered, she shakes her head. His voice is aching, eyes tortured as he argues with her. “I imagine you constantly. I imagine what it’s like if the Black Hood ever gets his claws into you. I imagine Reggie pinning you to a mat, the Ghoulies jumping you after school! And taking self-defense classes against some lunatic with a gun while you hole yourself up in your house doesn’t make me feel any better about them.”

“I know,” she sniffs, clinging to him as she regains some semblance of her breathing. “But this is more important than ever, Jug. Because I cut him off. I cut off the Black Hood. No more calls, no more tasks, until he agrees to reveal himself. That’s why I had to make sure you were okay and asked Sheriff Keller to check on you. The Black Hood _knows_ I love you.” Jughead looks like _he’s_ going to cry, his fingers digging almost painfully into her shoulder blades. It feels like every word evaporates into acid, eroding the past few weeks. “So far you, Archie, Kevin, and Veronica have been safe since I kept you away. But last night he stabbed my Dad.”

Jughead’s eyes widen, fingers twitching against her skin as his veins jump under his skin. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s out of the hospital, but who knows for how long? The Black Hood told my Dad that I can’t be kept from him, and I have to help him rid the town of sin, whatever that means.” Jughead runs his fingers through his hair, trying to work out and process this new information before his hands land back on Betty’s shoulders.

"What do we do?"

The use of _we_ , of her and him, nearly takes her breath away. But there's more to tell, so she wipes the emotional expression off her face and pushes onward. “He said that me and my mom have evidence of sinners, and he’s going to use it for his next victim unless I talk to him again. I’m not sure what that means…whether it’s the video of the Serpents induction, my mom’s photos of drug deals at Pop’s, or something else entirely.” Her fingers push back her hair, attempting to straighten her ponytail. “I just…I don’t know. And I don’t know what to do anymore. Sheriff Keller…you know how useful he is,” she sighs warily, Jughead’s mouth forming a straight line as he watches her confidence falter. “I just…” her fingers drop from her hair, useless, on top of his hands. “I just want you to be safe, Jug. As much as you can. Whether that means hanging out more with your Serpents or taking defense classes with Reggie…anything you can use to protect yourself, I need you to do it. Because I won’t lose you again.”

Without even fully registering the after-effects, Jughead encompasses Betty with a passionate, desperate kiss. It’s needy, all lips, teeth slowly edging out to test against each other's flesh. Their knees half-buckle in the emotion of it all, oblivious to the halls of Riverdale. They turn against the lockers, the metal clanging against Betty's back as their mouths open, not sure whether to speak or kiss or pray.

“Jug—“ she whispers, pulling away just enough to give him pause. Her eyes stay closed, as if she’s afraid of opening them and finding it’s all been torn away. It reminds him of the first time they kissed, her little sigh, her little smile. The inconsolable urge to nuzzle her takes hold of him.

Her hair is soft and pliant in his fingers as he pulls her close, breathing against her ear. She feels small again, sturdily supported by the lean muscle against her. A best friend? A confidant? A partner?

Her fingers sink into the soft collar of his jacket, rubbing it for comfort. He lets out a little half-moan, tugging her closer from her lower back. He’s missed this. It’s only been a few days, but he’s missed the all-encompassing feeling of pink and gold fluttering against his skin.

“Betty,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing a small circle against her back. It’s a plea. He wants to go home. He wants _her_ to be there.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Jug,” she whispers, eyes misty. “Promise me you’ll always get up. I can’t—I can’t see you covered in blood again.”

“I promise, Betty,” he kisses the tip of her ear, not sure where they stand, but wanting to caress all of her, pull her flush against him until it’s impossible for the shadowed town to pry her away. “Does this—does this mean we can get back together?” he asks, a little afraid of the answer, so his fingers start immediately soothing themselves through her hair.

“Maybe,” she sighs a little miserably, cheek rubbing absently along his collar.

“What’s holding you back? The Black Hood?”

“That, and…” she pulls back, bright green eyes searching his weakened blue ones. “What happens after, Jug? What happens when the Serpents start sending you on missions? Or your friends say you’re a traitor for dating a north sider? What happens when your dad gets out? Am I just going to be pushed to the side again? Or are you going to let me be a part of this?”

He shifts, uncomfortable. Even the thought of Betty mixed up with Serpent business sets him on edge. If she ever got _close_ to the viper pit he’d probably have a heart attack. “I haven’t really thought about it. I figured we'd just deal with it as it arose.”

“So think about it, Jug,” she says earnestly, firm enough to scare him a little. “Because we don’t have much time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? That wasn't so bad. Hal can totally get stabbed without me feeling bad. Plus we got our first reunion kiss! Passion! Yes! But Betty's still feeling a little raw so we'll see how she toughens up as she gears up to go into her own gauntlet. Writing Reggie as a not-terrible person was a fun little experiment, and I actually wish I saw him more in fics (and the show) as something other than a jerky dudebro. Stay tuned for danger! And yes, that is a Nancy Drew reference :) Comment your fav part if you so desire


	5. Commune with Ghoulies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty takes matters into her own hands and makes a deal with Malachai, leader of the Ghoulies, to try and entrap the Black Hood. But as with all things Riverdale, things don't go according to plan.

Betty tumbles onto the mats so many times that she actually feels burns and bruises on her skin. Even without actual intent to kill, these workshops are _hard_. Veronica and Archie eye her carefully from the sidelines. “Maybe…take it easy, B?”

Her palms screech against the floor. “I’ll take it easy when I know I can do this.”

Even the janitor is eyeing the fresh marks on her skin and the mats, warily regarding the sophomore’s tenacity. At her glare, he moves along the perimeter of the gym, hanging in back.

“You may never know if you can do this, B. It’s all situational. You never know when some freak is going to attack. You just have to trust you’ll be able to use these tools to do the right thing,” Veronica reasons, rubbing Archie’s arm. The sentiment is for his benefit as well as hers. Archie’s been antsy to take the Black Hood down as well, barely sleeping in his bedroom, security alarms everywhere. At least Veronica made him get rid of the gun, although the school still has an eye on him since Sweet Pea’s outburst. The Serpents weren’t at _this_ session, but Jughead promised he’d make some kind of reluctant amends with Archie to get some private tutoring. The physical contact may do them some good, get out some of their aggression.

“I bet the killer, _these_ killers, have something they’re afraid of,” Betty mutters, focused, fierce, angry.

“What are you talking about?” Veronica asks, dark brow furrowing in concern.

“I can’t—“ Betty looks around, wiping her palms on the back of her shorts, aware of eyes on her, but unable to put her finger on it. It’s like being watched by a painting with a secret passage, the voyeur that slips just out of sight. “I can’t get it into right now. I don’t know _who’s_ watching or listening or…I’ll see you later.”

Betty pauses, turning, realizing that may not be true. She takes an extra second to look at her former best friend. “I’m sorry about what I said, Veronica. You’re not a bad person. You were my best friend, I didn’t mean it, and I’m sorry.”

Veronica blinks, stunned, and turns to Archie to confirm that this _is_ in fact happening. By the time she turns back, the only thing she can see if Betty winding her hair in a ponytail on her way out the door.

 

* * *

 

Arguing with Alice is futile. “I will not let you walk right into a monster’s den!” she argues.

Betty lowers her head in mock-submission, waiting patiently until they visit her father. He looks mostly normal, if a little more bandaged than usual. It’s his expression that unnerves her. He’s disappointed, patient, and demanding all at the same time. She should be used it to it by now. Her mother receives a phone call.

“Could be a tip about that Black Menace!” Alice looks meaningfully at her family, as if they aren’t painfully aware that information would be important. Swiping open her phone, Alice retreats to the hall, her voice weaving and cleaving information out of whomever’s on the other end. Hal turns to Betty expectantly, reticent, contemplative.

“I’m ready,” she says quietly, receiving his solemn nod of approval. The silence surrounding them closes in on her, air thinning like the ground has plummeted beneath them, leaving only atmosphere.

Heart racing, she lets her fingers close around the burner phone. It sits burning a hole in her pocket until they get home. She waits until she’s in her room, sitting at her desk to really look at it. Her thumb presses against the power button, trembling with anticipation as if she's pulling the ring out of a grenade. The vibration and chime of activating the power sends a violent tremor through her stomach, and for a second she thinks she really may explode. Betty sprints to the bathroom, vomiting uncontrollably. It’s mostly some kind of acidic foam with just a hint of blood. It’s bizarre, Betty thinks morosely, that there’ so much she doesn’t understand about what’s inside of her. Forcing the pulse in her ears to slow, she takes a palm full of faucet water and rinses away the bile.

Her mother is at the Register, but a police car sits outside. That doesn’t save her from the inevitable bubblegum tune shrieking out of the burner phone. Trembling, she answers it, but doesn’t say anything, letting out a steadying breath as a non-greeting to her tormentor.

“Why are you trying to avoid me, Betty?” the harrowing, synthesized voice asks. “Or are you really just trying to avoid that part of yourself?”

“I wouldn’t stab my dad,” Betty replies primly, trying to ignore the roar in her ears.

The voice on the other end of the line is sharp. “Maybe you would. Letting your mother kick him out of the house, living in the broken Register building. Doesn’t seem like you’re really on his side.”

“I’m not responsible for my parents’ relationship,” she recites automatically. Although she hasn’t been going to a therapist recently, she has been studying self-help books along with mysteries in her solitary confinement. “What do you really want to talk about, Mr. Hood?” she asks. Jughead would be chastising her for being so polite to a murderer, but right now she doesn’t care.

“Why did you cut off contact, Betty?”

Her gaze flickers to a passing van, The Red Circle members slowly passing through. Her brain ticks through responses, trying to pick the one she thinks will get her furthest. “I did what you wanted. And I was sick of your list. We were supposed to make this town better and you just keep asking me to start petty drama with my friends.”

“And did you?” the voice asks in an even lower register than normal.

Betty grips her phone tighter, turning her head. “You should know, if you were following me as closely as you say.”

“Veronica Lodge is still asking about you.”

If she implies V can’t take a hint, he might deliver one _for_ her. But when would he even have seen them talking? She hasn’t been at Pop’s. Just school…and barely even in the cafeteria. “Some teachers have noted my withdrawal from the usual social circles and asked her to check up on me. So I started an initiative to get them off my back.”

“Oh, Betty. You smart, strong, resourceful girl. We’re the same. You don’t need those worthless followers when you have me.”

“Just the way you wanted.” Stone cold. That’s what she has to be with this man (men?). This killer. Betty closes her eyes against the current of dread trying to pull her under. “How many of you are there?”

Surprised, the Black Hood chuckles. “Do you think this is like the movies?”

“I just want to know what I’m getting into.” At his hesitation, she shifts the phone against her cheek. “You were right, by the way. About Veronica. Jughead. I want to know who the right kinds of people are…including you…including me. The truth is important to me.”

The Black Hood ponders on the other end of the phone. “Sounds like you’re ready to be baptized, Betty. Your final test of loyalty is waiting. _We’ll_ be in touch.”

The line goes dead, Betty swallowing against a raging wave of panic.

Avoiding him/them of her own free will hasn’t worked. She needs something bigger, something scarier than the Black Hood…and it isn’t going to be Archie and his Red Circle. After all they were doing to protect the town, she wouldn't feel right risking them anyways . For some reason the Hood never went to the South side, but not because he didn’t think they were sinners. Could it be he was afraid of Serpents? Of Ghoulies? Glancing at the burner phone, Betty knows she can’t risk Jughead in this, not when he’s still recovering from the gauntlet. Besides, the Black Hood would never believe she’d go after him for her first strike. The Ghoulies, the drug runners would be a bigger catch, and a risk…one she was willing to take.

 

* * *

 

Dressing the part was the most awkward and freeing experience she’d had in a while. The Ghoulies seemed to appreciate _The Warriors_ or _Lost Boys_ aesthetic of gangs, so she wore her Vixen shorts with a pair of old ripped up tights underneath and combat boots. Her infamous black bra peeked out just to give her a little confidence under an off-the shoulder large-print tee she stole from Polly’s closet from when she used to sneak out to go to clubs with Jason. The ponytail stayed high to show off some purple and yellow stud earrings. With a lot more eyeliner than she was used to, Betty felt like a different person. A stronger person. In some ways, this felt like a _date_.

_A date with danger_ , she smiles to herself, beyond disturbed with how often every outing has seemed to degenerate into a Nancy Drew-esque title. In some odd way, she feels more like Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad. Crazy to some, but with a plan to get free. As if to complete her ensemble, she takes a bat from her days of softball practice and launches it over her shoulder before making her way to Reggie’s awaiting car.

He whistles and shakes his head. “You sure you want to do this, Coop?”

“Positive,” she nods, aware of the way his eyebrows shoot up when she extends her leg into the car. It’s kind of fun to dress up.

They pull up to a shack, maybe two bedrooms, that smells like fruity skunk. In some ways it reminds her of the Wyrm, just less of a hangout and more of a drug factory. The Ghoulies appear to have an affinity for leather and spikes. She kind of likes it, to be honest. It’s a dressed-down take on Dark Betty.

“What the hell is this?” a curly-haired man laughs, eyes twinkling in amusement and delight. “Some north side princess wants to grace us with her presence?”

Betty lets her bat swing down to rest on a foot, eyeing the man with all the brevity she can muster. Channeling as much Neegan from Walking Dead as she can, Betty drags her eyes over the pseudo-adult her ex has been fighting with. Dark, curly brown hair piles haphazardly atop his head, shaved short on the sides. Chocolate-colored amused eyes feed on finding (maybe exploiting) people's strengths and weaknesses. There’s a resigned pride in his shoulders, the way he presides over this poorly lit empire with his shirt open, thick curly chest hairs making way for the remnants of body paint. He’s actually kind of young for a leader. It makes Betty wonder if that’s because he’s that impressive or everyone else just dies too fast.

“Malachai, this is Betty. She’s from my school,” Reggie starts, still half-blocking her just in case anything gets weird.

Malachai licks his lips, eyeing Betty over, borderline flirty. “You want a hit, sweet thing? You seem a little pure for a potential dealer.”

Why do people always assume she’s pure? Is it the blonde hair and blue eyes? Like her mother, she can sting as well as any Serpent.

“I want to play a game.”

The steadiness in her voice and gaze take the gang leader by surprise. He throws his head back and laughs. “All right, what kinda game?”

“Riverdale’s been dealing with a Black Hood. He’s been trying to wipe out sinners in town, but he keeps targeting kids with Jingle Jangle. I imagine it hasn’t done wonders for your sales,” she infers, twirling the bat at her feet.

His eyes follow her movements, curious. “ _No_ …”

“I was thinking…maybe you could help me catch him—or, them,” she amends, biting her lip. Reggie raises his eyebrows and shifts, clearly uncomfortable. She’s already warned _him_ about the Black Hood baptism.

Malachai’s teeth shine surprisingly white in such a yellow-brown place. “Look at you. All grown up and taking down murderers. We’re not the cops, blondie. We don’t care if those north siders drop like flies. Evolve or die. The Ghoulies will be just fine in the resulting chaos.”

“Without income from the north side residents, you will die. As drug dealers. Which is fine by me,” she shrugs, raising the bat between her fingers a few inches off the ground. “You can go get perfectly regular jobs." A mutter of contention at that. "I actually have an in on a construction site that used to be run by Serpents, if you really want to rub salt in the wound,” she offers, fully aware of the attention she’s garnering.

Malachai senses the change in the room and puts his feet down, leaning forward to get a bit more privacy. “How would we even help you catch these Hood characters? And what’s in it for us, besides a more pliable clientele?”

She steps forward, her combat boot noticeably echoing throughout the room as she starts to tell them her plan.

The Ghoulies break into a fit of laughter, even Reggie shirking into the background. But Betty Cooper isn’t afraid. She’s seen the ugly face of death, and slams the butt of her baseball bat against the crappy wooden floors. The vibration from the impact make the Ghoulies jump to attention.

“I’m not done.”

 

* * *

 

Sitting on her hands isn’t doing anything for Betty’s nerves, and noise at the shack’s doors is enough to make her jump to her feet. Part of her worries it’s her mother, discovering that she is not in fact visiting with her father but laying a trap for Riverdale’s serial killer. Malachai wanders in, half-dressed as always.

“What are you wearing?” she asks, eyeing his unbuttoned brightly patterned shirt.

“Thought I’d make my canvas a little easier to work with,” he smirks, ripping open his shirt a little wider, reminding her of a more relaxed Gaston. She thinks he puts “This is Spinal Tap” on in the background, but she’s too focused to really process anything beyond British accents and classic rock.

They get to work, her fingers dipping into the body paint. Malachai is surprisingly patient as he teaches her how to apply the wax and paint to his skin. She can’t help but wish she could do this but in reverse for Jug, painting away the bruises on his stomach and face. But she can’t think about that right now.

“You’re not bad,” he muses, eyeing her handiwork in the small pink compact mirror she’d picked up in the convenience store.

Eyebrow quirking, she nods. “You’re actually a really good teacher. Have you ever thought about teaching art, or becoming an artist?” she asks, fingers delicately blending the edges of his faux knife wound.

A smirk flickers across his face as he watches her focus intently on her work. “You trying to convince me to go straight, blondie?”

She shrugs, noncommittal. “It’s a hard life, but you seem like you can handle it.”

His chuckle wafts through the shack, and Betty wonders what her mother would think, seeing her working on the chest of a gang leader maybe ten years her senior. He doesn’t seem _so_ bad for a gang leader. Crazy, yes. But jovial.

FP was always sort of standoffish to newcomers. Respectful. Drunk, maybe, but polite and yes, a little dangerous in his stubborn masculinity that seemed to focus in one thing so intently that everything else blurred out of focus. Malachai seems more loopy, not paying attention to the details. He’s interested in the grand scheme of things, getting his point across with generalizations. He’s not going to focus on the brushstroke or shadows in a painting, he’s going to spatter across to get the _feeling_ of it. FP is like Rembrant or Telhouse. Malachai is Pollack. Or, looking at his bright shirt again, bold like Warhol.

“Why don’t you get along with the Serpents?” she asks, prodding his skin with her fingers while her words prod at his brain.

“Aw, blondie, are you friends with everyone you meet?” His faux-pout earns him a scolding glare. “We got such different _styles_. The Serpents are all about tradition and rules and yada yada yada. We Ghoulies are relaxed. We know how to roll with the punches. Those squares don’t know how to _adapt_.” Her lip quirks in a smile. “What?” he asks, curious, pleased.

“I never thought of Serpents as squares before.” Her blonde ponytail shakes with amusement, and he can tell she’s keeping something close to her heart.

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker from her fingers to her face, drawn away from the television for just a moment. “What do you think of them?”

Trying to be diplomatic, she pauses, her eyes never really leaving the surprisingly authentic stab wound on his chest. “I don’t know. I’m a little biased, I guess. They kinda stole my boyfriend.”

“ _Stole_ your boyfriend?” Malachai balks. “What kind of fuckin’ loser chooses a leather jacket over p—“ Her glare forces him to cut himself off. “He musta been really lost, blondie.”

“He was,” she agrees, eyes downcast. The gang leader studies her for a little too long, eyes focused in on her eyelashes, her hair, her bruise. Normally she’d shift under his gaze to make him divert it back to the chuckleheads onscreen but right now she’s cautious. It’s so rare she can even talk to someone in a gang without being _judged_. Even though this guy is clearly judging her looks, he doesn’t have a reason to _lie_.

“Hey…Malachai? What’s it like, being in a gang?”

His long hair folds over the back of the couch as he leans his head back. “Why? Is this part of your _Portrait of a Serial Killer_ series?”

“No, I just—I never get to talk about it with my ex. Like, why would you want to get beat in someplace? Was there really nowhere else to go? No one you could turn to? I’m sure you had friends,” she trails off, finger twirling to make one section look particularly grueling. Malachai is friendly. There's no doubt in her mind that he would have _someone_ to rely on. Unless he was a sociopath or something, in which case she bites her lip a little nervously at trusting him with her plan.

His mouth smooths into more serious territory, and for a moment she holds her breath, waiting for the answer, the slap… _something_.

His voice is a bit rougher when he responds this time. “Yeah, I could’ve gone to a lotta other places. Waiter. Mechanic. You think I would’ve been happy there?” His sharp gaze holds her reply. “I had a taste for the life. People _saw_ you when you were in a gang. Consider it a country club for the south side, and the Ghoulies are the best one. I saw kids drop out and hang by the gas station, riding bikes, fixing cars, not worrying about grades or their families or whatever stupid shit was happening that week. The beat-in part wasn’t even a consideration. You go into a gang already broken.”

The way he phrases it makes Betty feel grounded. Is that how Jughead felt? _Broken?_ She always thought…they helped each other not fall apart. Was it something she did? Or was it Riverdale? Tears threaten, but she quickly banishes them, remembering how she’d done _everything she could_ to support him. Maybe _too_ much.  _He_ was the one who pushed her away. He was lost. Like Malachai said. And maybe, after all this was done, they’d be found again. Head bowed, she turns away, edging further from his lap to grab the “murder weapon.”

“It’s a short life, but it’s a sweet one,” Malachai sighs, closing his eyes briefly before scooting down in the couch to watch more comfortably. "Maybe you should try it."

A nervous chuckle escapes her throat. "You get a lotta sixteen-year-old girls in the Ghoulies?"

"Nah. That's why we have an opening," he smirks, the grin spreading along his cheeks like it splits his face. He doesn't expect her to take him up on it, but for some reason baiting her is giving him a lot of satisfaction.

Betty shakes her head, nervous, and turns back to the television with her nails pressed lightly against her palms.

They wait for a few more minutes, amidst the ridiculousness of the movie he put on. A few times, he excuses himself to the restroom, and Betty takes a moment to send a scheduled text to her father, who's one of the few numbers she's memorized over the years before the days of having her own cell phone. She knows Archie's. Her mom's. Lately, Sheriff Keller's. She  _thinks_ she knows Jughead's, but he didn't really have a phone when they were kids so it's really hard to say. Of course she doesn't have the Black Hood's. Betty chews on her lip, waiting for the call. Malachai senses her anxiety building and lets his hand tap her thigh as he returns to his place on the couch. “Hey. You’ll be fine. What’s one more dead body, huh?” His eyes glaze over, a certain detachment hanging in them.

The question tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Are you high?”

He laughs, slapping her thigh again, making her tense. “The first rule of dealing is you _don’t use the product._ ” He touches his nose, and for a second she flashes back to Jughead in the Blue and Gold saluting her on the way to interview Doiley for his first assignment. Malachai senses her attention shift, and sits up further on the couch. "Do you know what time this guy is going to call you?"

"No," Betty admits. "I'm sorry it's taking so long. Usually he calls me when I'm alone and it's night."

"How does he know when you're alone?" Malachai asks, tooth picking at his nail.

"I don't know," she squirms a little uncomfortably.

He chuckles, eyeing her over. "Asking for a friend. But it should be soon, huh? We may not have much more time. So...you said you lured me here under the impression of…what? That you’d be a runner? Or that you’d show me a good time? Seems like the sinner thing to do, have sex with a teenager.”

As a teenager— _technically_ a _virgin_ teenager, Betty is uncomfortable with this near-stranger using such vivid imagery around her. So she shifts a little further away. “I just said you seemed to like me and I thought instead of killing a bunch of drug users and runners, we could start at the supply. I’d get you to a special place on the outskirts of town under the illusion I was…interested.” Her shoulders quirk immediately at the use of the word, feeling embarrassed and awkward holding a kitchen knife with a man who’s probably killed more than the Black Hood. But that was an assumption. Maybe Malachai and the Ghoulies really just trafficked Jingle Jangle, skirmished with the Serpents, drag raced. 

“Well you better make this look fuckin' realistic then,” Malachai offers, grinning lazily. She’s confused. His eyes narrow on hers, anything but friendly. “What’s the name of that stupid-ass boyfriend of yours?” Shaking her head, Betty declines, still feeling a little prickly from the over-familiarity.

_Do I have a psycho magnet built into me or something?_ Betty wonders, aware that she herself may fit into that category. 

“Just picture I’m him. And don’t touch the chest, obviously.” The fake wound is terrifying, really, and she glances at it, wondering what else they practice in Ghoulies HQ. Sensing her hesitancy, he pulls her onto his lap, eliciting a gasp and a knee in this thigh. Betty pushes on his shoulders, knife nearly grazing his chest. Her heartbeat races in her ears.

“This isn’t part of the plan.”

“Seriously. Say I did this,” he offers, “You would stab from above, right?” he asks, taking her wrist and placing the knife against his fake-wound. His breath steams her face, making her turn away. “You’d fucking stab me with a knife, right?”

“Let go of me,” she warns roughly, jerking in his arms.

“Oh come on, blondie, it’s all part of the story, isn’t it?” His eyes gleam, amused. 

“ _Now_ ,” she growls, not bothering to meet his feral gaze.

A chuckle erupts from his throat, and it might as well be spattering across her face. “I know who you are, _Betty_ _Cooper_ ,” he teases maliciously. “You’re the one who wrote the article in the Blue and Gold…you and your mommy keep talking trash about the south side.” He twists her wrist a little harder. “Well I guess we _can_ play a little _dirty_ , come to think of it. Can’t wait to tell the Serpent prince how I had his girlfriend writhing on my lap.” Malachai extends his long, flat tongue to taste her neck. Overwrought with anger, Betty slams her head forward, busting his nose just enough to grant blood. “Oh, shit, blondie!” he gargles, almost laughing.

“Just making it _realistic,_ ” she chides, squirming out of his bruising grasp.

And to think, just a few moments ago she’d considered him _jovial_.

The familiar tune of _Lollipop_ blares out from her phone, the distraction allowing her to free herself and slide open the call. “Hey,” she breathes, knife shaking in her hands. She tries not to focus on what’s real blood and what’s not. Her skull’s still ringing from the impact against Malachai’s nose.

“Is he with you?” the synthesized voice on the other end of the line asks.

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. But we need to finish it…together,” she breathes, glancing at the rising Ghoulie to her right, looking forward to a serial killer's arrival in a way she never really expected. “I’m at the 311 Cherry address. Hurry.”

“Be right there.”

She hangs up, sighing, and considers just calling the police. The way Malachai is standing, stretching, puts her on edge. “What are you doing? You have to play dead.”

“Mmm, no, blondie. Ghoulies don't play dead. We're the _un_ dead. Beyond it.”

Something like panic whips across her lungs, making it hard to breathe. “What?”

“I want to punish this little Hood fella…and how better to punish him…than with you?” he smiles, arms spread wide.

“You want…to punish him?” she asks, still struggling to grasp the concept.

Malachi’s curls bob with his nod, fingers flexing as he reaches for his own knife. “Yeah…I want to _hurt_ him… _real_ bad. And if it just so happens I can mess with your Serpent boyfriend too, then so much the better!”

The jangle of a guitar solo fills the air between them, Betty feeling dread rise in her like molasses flooding the room.

 

* * *

 

It’s a _long_ ten minutes until the Black Hood arrives, and Betty finds it amusing in a sort of traumatizing way that she’s stuck watching This Is Spinal Tap while a gang leader polishes his gun, humming, laughing, and deciding which knife to use. Occasionally he'll slap it against her, teasing her that they can save that one for later if she's a good girl. The thought makes her sick, but regains some semblance of control by letting her nails just graze her palms. She needs to be _focused,_ even if Malachai isn't. The Black Hood doesn’t knock, but they both hear the door open, heavy footsteps sinking into the wooden floors. Betty swallows something hard, afraid to turn and meet the man in the flesh. Malachai grins, eyes alight with what she hopes is mischief, but most likely is murderous intent. She's seen the same look in Clifford Blossom's eyes on the video where he shot Jason, but Malachai's executioner style seems to hold a little more reckless glee. Sensing the careful steps of the intruder, Malachai grips Betty by the arm, spinning her back flush against him. The cold steel of his knife nuzzles her exposed throat, but she wills panic away with a quick dig into her palms. She can do this. Fighting him right now wouldn’t get her what she wants.

Malachai chuckles, causing the masked man to pause, quickly rounding to find them. Betty involuntarily takes a deep breath, feeling the atmosphere tingle at being between two murderers - one her torturer, the other her temporary keeper. Malachai gestures briefly to the adult in the black hood. “You show up to a date in a mask? That’s no way to treat a lady,” he tsks, letting his hand wander along Betty's rib cage. Tension rippling through the air, she waits for the Hood to speak… _maybe_ she can identify him that way. But he just glowers in their direction, eyes on Malachai's hands.

Malachai scrapes the long edge knife along her skin in an intricate dance, eyes flickering from her to the Hood. It makes her want to flinch, but Malachai holds her steady. “You've been scaring off a lot of my customers. So maybe we should scare you a little bit.”

Silence. Betty blinks slowly and tries to focus on breathing. Those eyes look familiar. The green. But who—

Malachai's hands move quickly, practiced. A tug lifts up something on her head, and suddenly her elastic band is snapped free, hair tumbling alongside her face. It’s oddly soft against her cheeks, and she immediately wants to shove it back so she can keep thinking. Malachai’s a loose cannon. She’s not exactly sure what else he’ll cut in order to get his way. His one hand ruffles her hair, sniffing it almost as a joke.

“This your little project?” Malachai taunts. “Betty ‘Black Hood’ Jr?” His knife slides along her collar, angling towards her chest. “She’s _perfect_ , isn’t she?” Her blood boils at the word. The Black Hood shifts, anxious, eyes flickering across the kitchen for any other weapons. The tip of the knife prickles her skin, a fleck of red blood sparkling on her white skin.

The Hood notices, glaring darkly at the garish gang leader behind her.

“Ah ah ah,” Malachai warns, shaking the knife in front of him. “I hear you’ve been playing a game with blondie here, so I think it’s only fair you play one with us. Sit down. Over there. We left it _warm_ for you,” he winks, motioning to the couch. Glowering, the Black Hood stands next to the couch, refusing to sit. “Okay, Hood, now I’m going to need you to ingest those two little pixie sticks I’ve prepared for you.” Betty had been forced to make a skull with the powdery substance on the compact mirror on the coffee table, Malachi adding the initials BH in the center. It’s a far cry from the love note she left on Jughead’s mirror. The Black Hood glares firmly at Malachai, only reaching for the Jingle Jangle when the knife slices Betty’s collar again, her pained hiss slithering through the air. She tries to keep eye contact with the Hood, not betraying any emotion as she pries through layers of acquaintances in the attempt to figure out who it is.

“I guess you’ll have to take off the mask to enjoy our gift,” Malachai grins, twisting the knife a little too eagerly against her chest. She tries to take a few steady breaths, trying to come up with a new plan. The Black Hood, if there is more than one, won’t come out to play if the one here is going to get eaten alive by gang members. She hopes the Ghoulies will keep their word and have been patrolling the street for any unusual cars or potential Hood suspects. "Hurry up, Hood. We've got so many more games we wanna play, right Betty?" he taunts, hand closing around her throat tight enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Wide eyes, struggling to breathe, Betty watches as the Black Hood’s thumb hovers under his mask, pulling it just enough up to drop the powdery contents underneath. He sputters on it, but swallows, looking self-loathing behind the mask for the very first time.

Malachai's hand loosens, moving to grip other parts of her. “Good, huh?”

Betty wants to stomp on Malachai’s foot and shove the knife up his throat for the juvenile taunting, for the way his hand constantly grips hard enough to bruise despite a lack of serious struggling on her part.

“Listen, Buddy. You were right. The Reckoning _is_ here, but it’s not going to be enforced by you and blondie. She’s no angel…although soon she may be,” Malachai’s fingers twirl into her hair, pulling her back to expose her throat.

Panic bursts through Betty’s veins, and the Black Hood draws a gun at the same time she grinds her elbow back into Malachai.

“Shi—“

The gang leader’s swear is buried beneath the sounds of gunshots. They collapse in a tangle on the floor behind the bar. Her knee buries itself in Malachai’s groin, taking the breath out of him. “ _Stay_!” Betty commands, wrestling the knife from his hand, slamming it into his thigh in a blind moment of rage.

“You…bi—“ he sputters, wind still knocked out of him.

“Betty?!” the hood screams from under the mask. “Are you all right?”

The bright flash of rage subsides, and Betty scrambles to her feet, determined not to let the change of plans upset her. “Yes.” She turns, brain still whirring with adrenaline. “I told you…we had to finish this together.” Her fingers flex around the knife, and she decidedly comes out from around the bar so the Hood has no reason to cross and focus on the writhing gang leader on the floor..

“You’ve been playing with me,” Betty admonishes, her knife shaking off flecks of oozing blood, the scent of it enough to make her want to gag. “It’s time we stop avoiding each other, and the work that needs to be done.”

Nodding, the Black Hood removes his mask. Her face blinks in confusion at the slightly pudgy, drooping face of the school janitor.

“Mr. Svenson? How did you…even know that I liked Nancy Drew?”

The man has the decency to look anxious. “I know a lot about you, Betty. I have been watching you. You were right. There is more than one of us. And a copycat who just used a black ski mask to cover his criminal uses.”

“I think that’s sort of the M.O. for people who don’t want to be seen.” Tense, she glances around the room. No one else is there yet.

“He’s right. You _are_ smart.” Swenson nods, nervous, wringing the mask in his hands. “We were worried for a while. Either that you wouldn’t talk to us or that you wouldn’t… _understand_. The calling. But it speaks to you too, doesn’t it? The darkness? The call for justice?”

Betty turns, eyes finding it hard to focus on the unhinged man before her. Scenes of maple syrup and a hot tub scream in the recesses of her mind. “You mean vengeance?”

A tear streaks down Svenson’s face, and she isn’t quite sure what to think of it. “The Coopers have been part of a grand tradition of seeking out the truth. Of punishing the sinners.”

“Wouldn’t that make us murderers?” Betty asks, feeling scorched by the blood flecked on her face from head-butting Malachai.

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently, entranced by some higher power. “It makes you warriors.”

Suddenly she feels drained, adrenaline ebbing away to despair, because she knows who the other Black Hood has to be. Trembling, she asks, “Mr. Svenson…is my dad the other Black Hood?”

He just opens his mouth, gaping like a statue in a church as he catches a glimpse of theGhoulies creeping forward with their bats and chains. It’s just as well, she thinks, unsure of just how much else she can take in one day.

He shoves his face back under the hood, hurrying, “We have to go, Betty. The calling is upon us.”

The sound of Ghoulies’ shrieking laughter and shattering glass clamors throughout the shack. It’s just another world falling apart under her feet, and this time Betty’s not sure if she can run.

 

* * *

 

It’s a tingling, painful sort of numbness trickling through her as she sits in the sheriff’s office, eyes glazed over in the hopes she can block it all out. It’s odd, but all she can think about is that she really wants an elastic hair band to pull this matted hair out of her face and off her neck. It’s suffocating her. The air feels humid, heavy around her.

They don’t believe her. The major witness is dead. The Ghoulies, especially Malachai, untrustworthy and not even conscious or present for Svenson's psuedo-confession. The police think she’s having some kind of post-traumatic attack. That she’s crazy. Like Polly. Like her mother. Like her murderous father.

“What reason would Hal have for being the Black Hood?” Sheriff Keller asks, eyebrows knitted together in patient doubt. "We already got one. Svenson. He always referred to himself in the singular tense. Why would there be more?"

“I don’t know, to throw people off?” She’s feeling desperate, frustrated. “But Svenson said that the Coopers have a history of being…warriors!”

Sheriff Keller works his eyebrows in apprehension as he surveys his desk. The huge arrest made would result in _hours_ if not _days_ of paperwork. “That could mean anything, Betty. Your mother used to run with the Southside Serpents.”

“But she wasn’t always a Cooper,” Betty protests, leaning forward. “And…and the Blossom feud? One brother murders another? What if my dad was involved with that crew? What if the Coopers have always taken matters…into their own hands,” she finishes, looking at her own, speckled in scars and blood. It’s anyone’s guess _whose_ blood it is. Hers. Malachai’s. Svenson’s. Any spatter of the Ghoulies whom the Black Hood shot.

Everything in her aches, and eventually a sympathetic Sheriff Keller dismisses her to be released back to her parents, who have been waiting at the Sheriff’s Office to cover the Ghoulies’s arrest, the Black Hood’s murder, and no doubt slander the south side even more. It doesn’t strike Betty as surprising that he’d release her back to someone she just accused of murder. Her adrenaline has crashed too far to really be _nervous_ though. If he wanted to kill her, he would’ve done it already. Besides, she’d gotten a lot of supposed _sinners_ processed. He couldn’t kill her friends over that, right?

“I swear, Riverdale just hires fools and criminals!” Alice complains in the hallway. “First the Sugar Man and now the Black Hood! I’m having a word with Mayor McCoy about this,” she snipes, crossing her arms, only to swarm Betty the instant she’s released. Hal stands off a little farther, quieter, putting a comforting palm on his daughter’s shoulder as her mother swears she will never leave the house again.

Her father’s hand feels like ice. That painful, numbing ice that had slithered down her back at Jughead’s. Betrayal, she realizes dimly. That’s what this feels like. Cold, brutal, betrayal.

When asked if she’s all right, Betty glances from her mother to her father, feeling like she’s sitting underwater. Her father speaks slowly, firmly, looking directly in her eyes, but everything still seems muffled. “What did he say to you?”

“We’re warriors,” is all she can manage, and notices the sparkle of respect in her father’s eye.

 

* * *

 

Betty stays in her room for most of the next day, doing homework, being fawned over by her parents (mostly her mother), who clean her scratches and tend her bruises. No phone. None whatsoever. Not even the burner one. She doesn't want to see or talk to…anybody, really, with this horrible truth sucking any thought and emotion out of her. When her parents turn away anyone coming to the door for comment, she’s not surprised. They've been working on their own story all night. Hal hangs around a little more often as a precautionary measure, but thankfully never with Betty alone. The police do a cautionary patrol, just in case the Ghoulies families’ want to attack the Coopers in retaliation. Retaliation for what is still a little unclear. She’d been trying to work _with_ them, not against them. But that’s not the way her parents are spinning it—like she was kidnapped and forced to play weird games with their leader until the Hood showed up. Like she was smart, sensible bait, just waiting for the opportunity to run away.

It's not entirely untrue.

She does want to run away.

Archie waves at her through the window, mouthing, “ _You okay?_ ”

She’s not sure how much he knows, what her parents have put in the paper that comes out today. Her head jerks in what she hopes is a nod, and she closes the curtains in case her dad comes in, turning away and blasting some music to drown out her thoughts.

About half an hour later, she jerks her attention to the sound of something small bouncing off her window. Thinking it may be her imagination, Betty pauses her music and waits for it to happen again. The dull little _plink_ sound draws her back to the window, taking a deep breath. She pulls open the curtain, half expecting a Ghoulie with brass knuckles to be crouching on her windowsill. Instead, she finds two figures on the lawn below: a cop already threatening a citation to a boy in leather. Her heart surges.

_Jughead_.

When Betty opens the window, the fresh air washes over her, overwhelming the stale stagnancy she’s been cultivating. She hears words like “trespassing” and “risk” thrown around, but all her eyes can focus on is Jughead’s concerned expression.

He feels her at the window and turns, ignoring the cop and connecting with her as if they’re both long-lost ghosts reuniting on another plane, alight with joys and pains and loss. Relief dominates his face, spreading through the rest of his posture one limb at a time, even though the concern stays etched in his features. His eyes search hers for an explanation, a clue as to why she would do what she did.

But what can she possibly say? “It’s fine, officer,” she calls, hoping her father isn’t near, aware of how gravelly her voice sounds.

The cop doesn’t say anything, but twists to eye what he no doubt views as a juvenile delinquent. “I can’t talk until Monday,” she swallows thickly, pleading with Jug with her eyes just to leave it there.

“Betty…” he says thickly. “What happened to your phone? The Ghoulies?”

“Monday, Jug.”

He scowls at the situation, kicking his foot into the lawn. “I’m staying at Archie’s ’til you can come out. I’ll be right there, okay?”

She’s not sure if Archie _knows_ about that or if Jughead’s going to break into the Andrews’ garage, but either way it makes her anxious to have him so close to the killer.

“I don’t know if that’s safe,” she tenses, wanting to leap out the window and run to him, leave this whole town behind like they talked about.

His arms gesture to the expanse. “The place is surrounded by cops and the Black Hood is dead. I think we’ll be okay.” At her panicked expression, his eyes narrow, but they obviously can’t continue this conversation with the cop standing next to him. There’s only so much longing gazes and furrowed brows can communicate, and her father being a murderer isn’t one of them. Cautious, Jughead glances from the cop to Betty’s window. “Come find me when you’re ready to talk. Again.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and backs away, hesitant to turn around and lose sight of her. The whole Ghoulies threat probably gave him a heart attack. As he retreats, Betty fixes the cop with a firm stare. “Sir, please don’t tell my parents about this. They’ve been through enough, and I don’t think they need to know if a childhood friend wants to say hi.”

“But…isn’t that kid a Serpent?” the cop asks, looking at his notepad as if the answers are in there.

Betty’s throat hesitates, not sure how to answer. It’s certainly _not_ all he is. Jughead is her _family_. Even through the breakup, she couldn’t shake that feeling that she needed to _be_ there for him. That she should be fighting _harder_ for him. It just wasn’t the right time. She’d learned what happened when she tried to cling to people who didn’t want her anymore. Polly’s rejection of the Coopers and by extension, Betty, had stung. Realizing her sister would rather live with strangers and cut her off entirely for something not her fault felt like less of a slap in the face and more like being held underwater so she couldn't breathe. To be fair, Polly did feel threatened by the whole serial killer thing going on in town. Now that Betty’s discovered who the killers are, Polly was 100% right to run away. Betty feels guilty that she had to run even further when the threat increased. But Polly also never tries calling, still hasn’t come to visit after the whole Ghoulies and Black Hood debacle. Wherever Polly is right now, she’s better off without the Coopers, and part of Betty wonders if everyone else is too.

 

* * *

 

Jughead would rather actually eat the gravel on the driveway than knock on Andrews’ door, but Betty comes first now. He’s not going throw their reconciliation away because of a stupid spat with his former best friend. Besides, the Serpents are probably still celebrating the mass Ghoulie incarceration and wouldn’t miss him at the Wyrm. They’re also less likely to judge him for staying by the girl who helped bring down their biggest rivals. The news that Betty’d been in the center of not only the Black Hood showdown but held hostage by Malachai literally made him tear his hair in confused panic. But she’s safe now. Sort of. He saw that she was alive, at least. Scared, but alive. Scared of  _what_ though? It can't just be the usual Cooper drama-fest.

Taking a second to steel himself, Jughead knocks, the rap feeling tame and somehow more risky compared to the other things he’s been doing with his hands the past two weeks. Snake bites. Dog-handling. Punching lockers.

Fred answers, a little surprised, but pleased to see him nonetheless. It always sort of embarrasses Jughead how _nice_ Fred Andrews is. “Jughead, what can I do for you?” he asks, genial as always.

“I, um, was hoping I could talk to you and Archie about hanging out here for a while.”

A little taken aback, Fred steps back to let Jughead in. “Sure! Let me, ah—let me get Archie.” Jughead crosses the Andrews threshold, waiting sheepishly in the home that was his fortress for a few glorious weeks—months? Time seemed fluid in Riverdale. Jughead would say this home was his salvation, but that was probably his friendship with Archie, the budding relationship with Betty and her sheer determination coupled with support that kept him from spiraling into despair when everything went down with his Dad.

The familiar redhead only makes it a few stairs down before he stops, defensively regarding the Serpent in his living room.

“Hey, Arch. Long time no see.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” It’s weird seeing Archie guarded, clipped, arms crossed in front of his chest. At least he’s not totally bro-ing out right now.

Jughead clasps his hands in front of him, spreading his palms in a gesture that he hopes is signaling he’d like to make amends. “Listen—I know we haven’t been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, but Betty—“

“What about her?” Archie demands easily with a scary amount of focus. Does he not even blink anymore?

“She told me about the Black Hood. About how she’d been forced to push everyone away and…” Finding the words as he goes, Jughead touches his bottom lip in a little appreciation of the thoughts tumbling from his mouth. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how she used to bring all of us together. With all the _big_ stuff going on, I forgot how much the little stuff matters. Sending a text, returning a call, meeting at Pop’s. I’m sorry, Arch.” The redhead appears unmoved, waiting for what he deems the _rest_ of the apology.

Jughead takes a shallow breath, prepared to actually eat dirt. “I love her, Archie. I love Betty and I love you and your dad and…as crazy as it may seem, I also love the Serpents.” Stiff astonishment washes through Archie’s body, freezing him in position. “I mean, they’re my family as much as you are now. I know that’s hard to believe. But with everything with my dad, I just…felt like I wanted more than what my childhood had to offer.” He’s learned from the last time he tried to explain this to Betty, and quickly explains, “You guys have done _everything_ for me. You helped my dad, you gave me a roof over my head, a reason to stay.” Tears prickle at his eyes. He _really_ didn’t expect to get this emotional in front of Archie. Even his talks with his dad have been mostly guarded behind glass, the phone giving him the distance he needed to evade questions about Betty, to evade questions about his friends. His Dad's insistent stares had started unnerving him, and he's been saying less and less with each visit. He talks about the school closing, the Blue and Gold. FP tries to guide him without knowing the whole truth, only that something's off. He wants him to make things right so he doesn't end up like him. Alone in jail, unable to take care of the people he loves.

Jughead swallows, trying to ignore the emotional cracks reopening over the callouses he’s been trying so hard to build up. “The Serpents took care of my dad—took care of _me_ without even knowing me. They gave me the option to grow, to use my rocky past in honor of the south side instead of being ashamed of it.” When Archie moves forward, about to argue, he raises his hands non-threateningly. “I know me being with the Serpents feels like I betrayed you, like I betrayed Betty. I don’t know what to say other than I need all of you. And hopefully, now that the Black Hood and Ghoulies are mostly gone, we can start working on getting everything in a better place.” His swipes his fist against his nose, eyes finally drifting to the floor, done.

It’s anyone’s guess how long it will take for Archie to slug him. Jughead swallows, nervous, but not as anxious about getting punched as he would’ve been last week. Being beaten to the point it’s hard to stand twice in one week does that to a person. But all he hears is Archie moving, finally standing a few feet away, crossing and uncrossing his arms until finally asking, “Is Betty okay with this?”

The response almost makes him want to laugh. The urge to protect Betty must be strong for a lot of people. “Yeah, I guess. She’s been holed up in Cooper tower. They took away my ladder so I haven’t really been able to check in.”

“You back together?” Archie asks, eyebrow arched. It’s not mean, not even stern this time.

“Almost,” he smirks, surprised how easily his cheek twitches at just the thought of it. A warmth spreads in his chest, eager to share his joy with a friend, with the girl he loves. It’s so rare that he has it in the first place.

Archie’s lips twist hesitantly, eyeing Jughead with a dubious expression. “You’re still not good enough for her, man.” It’s not mean to be mean. It’s light, borderline teasing, a statement. 

“Never will be,” Jughead admits, letting out a little breath. “But I strive to be worthy. To be better. For her.” He hesitates, aware of the way he’s repurposed Betty’s speech, the same one that inspired the Black Hood in the first place. The reference only vaguely registers in Archie’s brain.

Convinced for now, whether by Betty’s words or Jughead’s, Archie nods. “We’ll work it out, man,” the slap against Jughead’s shoulder is such a relief he doesn’t even note that it’s almost half a punch. “Wanna come upstairs? I’m sitting watch on the house a bit, just in case.”

Relieved, Jughead smiles. “Good to know our stalking skills come in handy these days.” The smack on his arm is more playful this time, and Jughead already feels immeasurable tension slipping away as he follows his best friend upstairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty survived a Ghoulie AND Black Hood attack! Yaaaay! Her Dad is a murderer! Booo! Is it weird I kind of like Malachai and wish they actually made him scary and fun in the show? I mean, he does BODY PAINT in the middle of a small town for goodness sakes! I just imagine in the evil meetings Hiram quirking an eyebrow as Malachai traces something cool with the moisture on his glass, possibly a teensy bit high on fumes. Reggie was just thinking "We are so going to die" the whole time they were in the hideout. Hope you guys don't mind I didn't really want to get into Svenson's shootout with the Ghoulies because I'm not a huge fan of unnecessary violence, even though the show loves using it for DRAMA and slow-mo boys in the RAIN. I get it. We have a hot cast. Send them to the beach to play chicken or something! Betty's little gashes in Malachai's game were enough violence for me for one day. Also the text she sent to her dad was just the address, no other information, so he wouldn't know her intentions any which way. Favorite parts? Lemme know!


	6. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cooper house feels like it's ready to bathe Betty in blood behind every door. When she finally goes back to school, she's forced to confront what her father is, what that means, and what she needs to do about it. Her feelings are what confuse her. She has them, and her father doesn't. And she definitely, without a doubt, has strong feelings for Jughead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have really helped keep this fic alive so thank you so much for your support and insights ^-^ I treasure every single one of them! Also [minor spoiler] smut ahead in this chapter! Woo! Earn that rating!

Every room feels like a trap now, ready to spring and bathe Betty in enough blood to envy _Carrie_. Her mother’s focused, playing back her latest interview with Sheriff Keller.

“Is Dad here?” Betty asks, afraid of the answer.

“No, sweetie. He’s coming by tomorrow. I was thinking, though,” she ponders, pausing the recording, flipping a few stray hairs out of her face. Betty’s not sure how she can focus with hair down and feathered, but her mother is a whole other kind of intense. “Would you feel safer if your father came back home? Permanently? Well, until he does something vile again,” she amends with cynical thoughtfulness.

Betty feels like her stomach’s tightened, turned to stone. “No.”

Alice shifts, surprised. “No? I would’ve thought—“

“No,” she repeats, head shaking from side to side.

Her mother pauses, considering her daughter, then nods at her blatant answer. “All right. We’ll stick to the protection program,” she concedes, slipping her glasses back on the bridge of her nose and turning to her computer.

Having Hal in the house would only possess Betty to dissect his every move, trying to determine what’s next. She’d torture herself against every childhood memory for not seeing the clues before. Hell, she’s already doing it, wondering why she was so _stupid_ for not realizing that he’d been letting Svenson know when she was alone. That, or he’d just call her himself after calling Alice to make sure she wasn’t with Betty at the time. Right now she has no idea where her serial killer father lurks, where she’s supposed to go from here. Lay low. For all her mother warns her about Serpents, she wonders if the Coopers are the real snakes in the grass.

She can’t fall sleep without gasping awake from nightmares of her family hosting a dinner party, only to murder everyone there. Her friends’ unseeing eyes roll to the ceiling as the house crumbles below, into what she can only assume is supposed to be some form of Hell. Her hand feels like it’s on fire. Her parents approach, both stabbing the bloody knives they used to murder her friends through each hand. “Your legacy,” they whisper, “Do better, Betty.” When she awakes, her palms are bloody, nails shredding what self-restraint she relinquished in sleep. The sight of the bloody flesh along with her racing heartbeat unleashes a new flood of emotion in Betty. Bolting to the bathroom, she turns the faucet on and just lets herself go, crying it out in the way she’s afraid to during the day.

Alice stirs, still hyper-sensitive to her daughter, and knocks hurriedly on the door. “Betty? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she half-sobs, fully aware that the facade has not only been cracked, but fully shattered.

The door isn’t locked, per Cooper house rules, so Alice swings in unimpeded. Fearless, she sees her quivering daughter’s bloody hands in the sink.

It takes Alice a second to process everything before going into action. “I’ll get some aloe and bandages,” she says calmly, and although the wrappings soothe her to some extent, Betty can’t stop crying. Alice keeps her hydrated with tea, and even lets her watch television downstairs until she can go back to bed. Her mother tries to stay awake, but pretty soon she’s nodding off in the side chair, and Betty is left on her own to watch the least terrifying film she could find at that hour, something that reminds her of Polly. 

It’s melodramatic, and certainly has enough parts to let her cry it out, but Carmen’s storyline attempting to reconnect with her divorced father feels different tonight. Carmen feels too fat, too angry, too Puerto-Rican for her dad’s new picture-perfect white suburban family. After running away, she finally decides to take a cab and go back to the house, expecting them to be out looking for her. But they’re in the dining room, laughing, pretending nothing is wrong, that they may even be better without her. It’s a betrayal. In her rage, Carmen launches a rock against the dining room window, shattering the illusion that her father ever cared for her in the first place, crippling the image of this perfect, unbroken family.

Betty tucks her chin against her knees and cries, letting the salty tears saturate her stinging face. It’s like…she has no idea what her father feels, who he _is_ anymore either. Does he care about her still? Does he care about Polly? Even after the teen pregnancy? Her stomach does another roll, and she reaches for one of the cracker packets her mom left out, nibbling slowly.

The idea of switching to a less emotionally-charged movie doesn’t move her. She needs to figure this out. Eventually, Betty falls asleep with wet cheeks, twitching with glimpses of fever-dreams, only to be woken by a tea pot’s whistle at 6am.

Already mostly put-together, Alice offers Betty her signature direction. “Oh, sorry Betty! Go back to bed, I’ll come get you in an hour.”

Groggy, Betty drags herself up the stairs and to the bedroom. She wonders if her mom put something in the tea, because she honestly feels a little sick, groggy. Of course it could just be recent life events draining her. For a second the pink pastel in her room reminds her of vomit, and before she can consider that too deeply she plants herself back in bed and closes her eyes.

A few hours later, after she’s showered and put her ponytail up, her mother announces gently, “Betty, your father’s here. Should I tell him you’re sick, or…?”

Inwardly screaming, Betty responds. “He can come in.”

She needs to _know_ , Betty thinks, letting her heartbeat work its way into her brain. She needs to know  _why._ The urge to dissect what feels like an autopsy of her supposedly perfect family has her peeling her fingers against her bandages.

"Stop that," Alice retreats, warningly gesturing to Betty's hands. The teen takes a deep breath, releasing Alice returns a few moments later, leading Hal up to the room and opening the door. “She’s not well, so you can’t stay long, Hal.” Nodding, Hal seems unperturbed as always. Alice shoots a warning glance between the two of them and retreats down the hall, most likely eavesdropping, but that shouldn’t be anything new to either of them.

“Betty,” Hal nods, as if this is just another day, as if he’s just another dad, and not someone who’s hunted down their friends and neighbors.

Betty swallows, unsure what to say. “Dad.” Right now she's grateful for the almost permanent doe-eyed impression she gives to her parents. It usually hides when she’s _actually_ afraid, and right now Betty is _terrified_.

After a few seconds, Hal moves forward to join her in sitting on her bed. Leaning in, matter-of-fact, he tells her, “Betty, honey, I think we need to lay low for a little while. Too much attention is hovering on our family for the time being.”

Her huff comes out as more of a dry heave in her throat. “It should be a nice break from the attempted murders, right Dad?”

His harsh gaze narrows, warning. She’s so used to her mother being the one to be afraid of…her father being the one she could rely on for a dose of harsh wisdom. His square jaw always seemed so masculine, solid, dependable. It unnerves her to know what he _really_ is, what he sees in her, and what flows in her blood: a serpent, a murderer, a warrior.

Her father’s severe lecture brings her out of the thought. “You did the right thing by luring those Ghoulies to justice. We need to do what’s right by Riverdale. Right, Betty?” His hand strikes her wrist, clasping there. “We _are_ warriors. And we _must_ do better.”

A hollow ache takes hold of her bones, waiting for him to explain and let her joints unlock, tumbling all that she is in a heap on the floor. But her father leaves the room just as quickly and quietly as he entered it, only leaving with her, "In time, we will." She stays motionless until the lock of the front door behind him clicks into place.

Startled, Betty wonders if she should have been recording their conversation. _Could_ she even turn in her dad like that? _Of course_ , her mind rationalizes. But maybe…maybe laying low means he’ll stop. No. He’ll only stop for _now_. What about the next time? What’s next for _her_? For _them_? The bubbling anxiety within her threatens to spill over from her throat.

“I’m going to Ethel’s,” she breathes, breezing past her mother and deciding to run against the fresh air like a knife in her lungs.

“Wait! Be careful!” Alice calls, stepping outside to watch her until she’s past the line of sight. It’s not far, a few blocks, and adrenaline can carry her that far.

Blocking out anything else, she makes it to the site of Chuck’s torture scene. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, so she clambers her way into the pool section, remembering the codes, ignoring the bite of the cold iron gate against her scarred palms. The pool area looks completely different in daylight, warm even. The memory of shoving Chuck’s head under the water with a black heel overwhelms her, and she dives into the cool section of the pool to bury it, clothes and all.

She wonders if she can wait here until the water burns more than just the cuts on her neck and palms, waiting to be drawn under just like Jason, like Cheryl. Swept away by all that is Riverdale. Tightening her core muscles, Betty forces herself forward, propelling across the pool’s expanse, eventually breaking the surface. Maybe she’s more of a fighter than she’d like to admit. But now…what is she fighting for? What is she _waiting_ for?

“Betty?!” she hears, and although she panics that Ethel’s family is home, she’s greeted by the familiar sight of her next-door-neighbor Archie Andrews. “Betty are you okay?!”

He’s already about to rip off his shirt and dive in Baywatch-style to save her. Oh, Archie Andrews. Always willing to save a life like Cheryl’s, willing to stay up all night to protect his father.

“Yeah, Arch,” Betty sniffles, wiping her face from excess moisture in the attempt to look a little more put together. “How did you—“

“I saw you running out of your house and I followed you,” he pants. “We had to wait until Alice went inside, but then Jug and I went out looking for you. He went to Sweetwater, maybe Pop’s, and I came here.” He lets out a deeper breath, almost a _phew!_ “I had to make up for lost time—but I was kinda able to figure out where you were headed. Thank god for football practice and sprints. What are you…doing here?” he breathes, eyes narrowed, studying her. “What happened?” Even though he may not be the brightest, Archie was more than able to put some pieces together of the past few weeks. 

She takes a deep breath, considers going under the water again. “I just…I don’t want to talk about it.”

His throat bulges with the questions he wants to ask. Finally, one escapes. “But my dad, he’s safe, right?”

Unable to resist the cool temptation of silence, Betty slides under the water again, just enough to cover her head before popping up and breathing. “I don’t know, Arch. Honestly…your dad seems kind of like collateral damage.”

“Did the Black Hood say anything?” Archie asks, moving to the edge of the pool, waiting for her to join him.

“No. I mean, yes. He said—he said there was an imposter. Someone using a black maskto hide his cowardice, not realizing that's what he was doing himself,” she sighs, smoothing back her wet hair. “I think your dad had a hit taken out on him, Archie. I don’t think the Black Hood knew about your dad’s almost-affair. They never really flaunted it at the school—except the dance, but Svenson wasn’t working then. My Dad didn’t go either.” Archie blinks, confused as to why she’d add this information. “I just—I don’t know, Archie. We were interrupted by a bunch of drug dealers trying to torture us so…I just…I don’t have the answers right now.”

For some reason, Archie apologizes, and kneels down to the water’s edge. “Do you need some help?”

Unbidden, tears stream down her face. She brings up her wet fingers to smear them away, erasing their tracks from the rest of her face. But she can’t hide the bright red marks screaming against her pale skin from the chlorine.

 

* * *

 

“She’s okay?!” Jughead breathes, head tilted back to the sky. “Thank you _._ ”

He’s not much of a runner, and his knees already feel a little wobbly from taking off down the street.

“Yeah, but I think her mom’s pulling up. Shit, Jughead. I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Even though the phone conversation is brief, Jughead feels like his racing heart is relieved that at least she’s somewhere safe. _Well_ , he regards the river warily, _somewhat safe_.

 

* * *

 

Few approach Betty about the weekend’s events. It could be her mother escorting her toschool that deters them. Maybe people just expect her to be thrown in harm’s way nowadays, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s alienated most of her actual _friends_ in the whole Black Hood task debacle. Betty’s trying to be more present, but her eyes are downcast, disgusted with herself and a lot of what she feels. Seeing Archie or Jughead this morning was out of the question, her mother practically walking her to her first class like she’s five years old. 

“Now you call me the _second_ some Ghoulie shows up, you hear? I have to finish up these articles on Svenson for the Register and meet with Mayor McCoy but I should be here by 5 o’clock to pick you up at the Blue and Gold. Do _not_ _walk_.” Realizing Betty rarely listens to her nowadays, she shakes her head. “Or at least _call_ if you’re going to get in that Archie boy’s jalopy.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Betty sighs, leaning her head back, remembering how Jughead had done the same right before the gauntlet. The memory makes her snap to normal attention. “Can I go to school now?”

“Yes,” Alice decides, as if only approving the idea just now. She turns and stalks down the hall, Principal Weatherby suddenly pretending to host announcements to avoid her. Her family does know how to make an impression.

Her ears pick up the squeaky wheels of a janitor cart. Heightened senses, Betty whips around. It’s not a new janitor, just Svenson’s second, and Betty lets out a shaky breath. Although who’s really to say how innocent this guy is either? She’s not the only one creeped out by the cleaning cart.

“Ugh. I feel grossed out just thinking about it. I mean, that psycho Svenson just walked in on us in the locker room! He probably wrote me that creepy note,” Josie vents to Cheryl, whose eyes rake some passing students with mirth.

“This school is full of freaks,” Cheryl condescends, agreeing. “I can stay with you during practice for a while.” The redhead’s eyes flicker at the blonde, feigning a smile. “Thanks for getting rid of the Ghoulies, Cousin Betty,” Cheryl says a little louder than necessary. “Can we count on a _Serpent_ exodus in our future?”

As if on cue, Sweet Pea and Toni stand tall at their lockers, glaring at the redhead across the hall. Sweet Pea turns his broad chest to face Betty, eyeing the blonde who took down the rival gang with the local police force. Toni’s big brown eyes search Betty’s face, not finding ground. “Hey Betty, were you like—kidnapped? Or was it a sting?” she asks. Betty’s not sure if she should be offended by the question…they’re not that close, nor does she really want to talk about it.

What is she supposed to say? It was an accident? That just the Black Hood was supposed to be arrested, lured in by the Ghoulies, who would’ve been able to get back the streets and perhaps a bit of immunity? But no. They had to go the vengeance route. Just like him. And a lot of them had been taken down because of it. She shivers at the thought of their screams, their laughter as they tossed makeshift cherry bombs through the windows, Malachai already crawling for cover.

Shaking her head, she moves past the Serpents to push the memory away. Kevin’s back to being in her good graces since she helped out his dad, chattering away, giving her all the updates on gossip, but he keeps prying. “What was it like with the Ghoulies? Lots of leather, I’m sure. But were they hot? Mean? What was the drug den like? Betty, you are so Nancy Drew with a sharper edge I can’t _even!_ ”

“Betty!” The voice makes Kevin turn, confused, but Betty’s expecting it, _needs_ it right now amidst all the noise. Jughead practically slams into her, hands caressing anything he can touch. It’s overwhelming, and Betty just sort of lets it wash over, not sure if he wants to kill her or kiss her for her recklessness. His eyes search her frantically, hovering on the cuts on her neck. “What were you _thinking?!_ ” Kevin raises his eyebrows, surprised at his gall. Betty knows him too well, expecting the explosively concerned reaction.

“I was thinking…maybe the Black Hood targeted north siders because he was _afraid_ of the south side.”

“ _Yeah,”_ Kevin interjects. “As he _should_ be.”

Jughead pulls her to the side, away from a slightly affronted Kevin. “Betty, talk to me!” His hands are insistent at her shoulders, making her flinch against the bruises. Sensing her avoidance, his eyes graze down to her shoulders, letting his hands slowly settle on her arms, rubbing his thumbs against what seems to be safe territory. “Talk to me,” he tries again, softer, more controlled.

Those eyes do something to her. She glances at Kevin, although she’s not sure why. It’s not like he can give her any answers as to what to do about her father being a murderer, about being the Ghoulies’ next most wanted. Turning back to the stormy grey eyes in front of her, she takes Jughead’s hand and leads him into the Blue and Gold so they can finally have one of these talks all alone. The whole time she’s aware of his his hand gently resting on the small of her back. It’s almost like a tickle, a kiss, even through her clothes. The door locks shut behind them, and Betty slides the murder board in front of the door to block out any prying eyes. They move to the back of the room, their corner meant for two.

“So…what happened? How are you?” Jughead tries, rubbing her arms comfortingly. It makes her nauseous, craving his touch this way. Craving comfort of any kind. Her fingers massage her forehead. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, ever-constant, his hands massaging whatever non-injured parts of her he can find.

“Don’t you want to yell at me about putting myself in danger?”

Hesitant, Jughead continues rubbing the tension knot in her shoulder. “Yes. But right now I want to make sure you’re okay. The Ghoulies? The Black Hood? Really, Betty, what is there to say?”

Her eyes flicker to his mouth. She’s been thinking so long about what _not_ to say, she’s not even sure what she _wants_ to tell him anymore.

_I still love you._

Blinking away the thought, she refocuses on his general face, trying to be drawn to attention by his concerned frown. “I survived.” Her eyes flicker to his Adam’s apple, which bobs nervously. He knows _that_ , but it was still a concern at some point. “Svenson said something about me being a _warrior_.” Jughead nods in agreement, igniting a teensy spark of pride that travels down to her feet. “Initially, it started out as a sting. I was going to use the Ghoulies to lure in the Black Hoods and hand them over to the police.”

“The Ghoulies? Or the Hoods?” Jughead asks, still confused by the plural.

“Hoods. The Ghoulies, I figured, would have their own time. They might be selling drugs but at least they weren’t murdering people.”

“To your knowledge,” Jughead scoffs, and she remembers that he was ambushed by them at South Side High. Maybe it really is justice that they’re mostly behind bars right now…the ones who weren’t taken out by Svenson’s gun, anyways.

It seems like his ambush was so long ago, another life. Jughead’s skin is fairly clear for a rambunctious teenage gang member who lives on burgers. No matter how many times he got beat up, he never seemed to outwardly scar. He probably keeps those on the inside. _You go into a gang already broken_ , she remembers Malachai saying.

_Stop thinking about skin and brokenness_ , she chastises herself. “Malachai was really helpful at first.” 

“ _Malachai_?!” Jughead’s voice is strangled, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. It’s probably the first time he’s ever heard something positive about the Ghoulie leader.

“He helped me make a fake wound, to show the Black Hood I was on his side, that I’d been baptized or whatever so we could lure them out and get them.”

His voice is hard. “But they turned on you?”

She tilts her head, letting her ponytail sway against her shoulder. “Kind of. I don’t know if it’s something against you and the Serpents, my parents, or the Hood in general, but Malachai decided to change the plans. He wanted to use _me_ to get to the Hood instead of the other way around. The body paint stuff was just a time waster until the Hood showed up. He took me at knifepoint, and…” Jughead’s thumb traces her wounds of its own accord. The familiar touch lodges her story in her throat. He’s watching her so intently. Like he used to. _Before_. It takes her a second to breathe, to return to the present. “We struggled, and I was able to get him to the ground before he could do too much damage.”

“What’s too much?” Jughead asks, throat tight in pain.

Looking resigned, she removes her outer sweater, tank top revealing the deeper gashes and darker bruises along her shoulders and chest.

Jughead takes in a sharp breath, his fingers immediately tending to her skin. “Betty,” he whispers. A flare of heat, of desire to be _loved_ rushes through her like a waterfall in her veins. This moment is probably too intimate for where they are now, but that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to stop it. His other hand goes to her cheek, holding her there as he looks on with desperation, as if she’ll fall apart any second. But she’s not going to do that today. She can be a warrior, she thinks. But not in the ways everyone’s expecting of her. With that thought, she edges her face just a fraction away from his and parts her lips. “Betty,” he repeats, momentarily breathless as he looks into her eyes, and it’s enough to close the gap between them.

Their kiss is slow, lingering, grateful. Her fingers curl in his hair, dragging her nails under his hat and into his scalp. Stroking his skin with her nails elicits a long, lust-filled moan against her lips. He opens his eyes, looking decided unmoored in an entirely different way than at Pop’s diner. Swallowing, he tries to restrain himself. His voice thick, pupils dilated, he urges, “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” she whispers decidedly, mouth searing against his. Everything feels firm but giving, powerful against her.

“Betty—“ he sighs, but she swallows any of his potential protests with another kiss. Her leg curls around him, bracing his backside against the desk. The suspenders attached to his jeans clink against the wood as she grinds against him, desire rising between them.

He scoots back, sitting on the desk’s surface and dragging her up with him. Her heart is pounding, lips on auto-pilot. Part of her is even tempted to open her eyes, to capture this moment, but fears that’ll just make her look insane.

His mouth pulls back, forehead pushing against hers. “God, I worried about you so much. If anything had happened—“ Her lips devour the words before he can say them, drawing out a low groan instead. Although she appreciates his tender caresses, Betty feels like setting her world on fire.

“Come on, Jug,” she gestures, tugging him off the desk and towards the cushions they sometimes lounge with on the floor. The desk and murder board block any view from the small barbed-wire windows to the Blue and Gold, so she feels comfortable ramping it up down there.

“Betty…don’t we have to get to class?” The innocent remark almost makes her laugh for the first time in days. Instead, she offers him a small smirk, and slips out of her shoes, her tank top soon following.

“You think you can concentrate in class at a time like this?”

His gaze shifts from her to the clock showing mere minutes before class, but she wins out when she slides onto the cushions, slipping her panties off from under her skirt.

“Oh, god,” he mutters, resigned, and tears off his outer shirt to join her. The weight of him is familiar, nice, and the cushion behind her is a soft reminder that she needs to be comfortable. His lips are eager, but hesitate down his normal path of her neck and chest because of all the bruises and cuts. He swallows, wanting to tend to her in a way beyond the lustful instinct inside of her.

“Jug,” she tugs on his zipper, bringing him back to what she needs. “Stay with me.” Her warm hand sneaking into his pants and encircling his hard flesh seems to do just the trick. Soon his lust-hazed gaze is back, his lips parted in a pant.

“Are you—“ he breathes between kisses, fingers sliding between her open legs. “Hands? Or…?”

Her darkened eyes snap onto his, feeling dangerous. “I want everything.”

Passion flares between them like lightning striking a wildfire, his fingers inside of her, hers stroking him firmly. They groan at the mutual touching, and Betty starts to shift, feeling the buildup of something melting the anxiety inside of her. The warmth spreads, drawn to her skin against his lips at her throat, marking her in a way makes her feel like his—or in some ways more herself again. Want is flaming, maybe even coiling inside of her. But then his fingers curl into her, thumb rounding her clit, and she has to break away just to even _breathe._ His teethe graze her chin, and suddenly she just wants him to sink into her, consume everything.

Ravenous, her free hand rakes through his hair, knocking off his knit cap. He gasps, although whether it’s from the feel of her nails or being exposed, she’s not sure. “Fuck me,” she whispers in his ear, enjoying the way his eyes close tight, almost in pain. As if guiding him, she has to lift him higher, closer to her lips. They both maneuver his bottoms just below his hip bone, enough so he can slide up between her legs unimpeded, evidence of their arousal between them. He hesitates, still working her with his fingers.

Those beautiful sea-storm eyes search hers for permission, for a connection. Want and fear battle for dominance between both of them. “Are you sure, Betty?”

Taking a moment, she lets her hand run through his soft curls unimpeded. “This is _our_ place, Jughead. No one can take that from us. I—I want this,” she insists, reposition herself just enough to take him into her mouth. His shattered sigh, eyes fluttering to the back of his head, are tell enough that she's going to get her way. After a few seconds of tantalizing sucks and licks, relaxing her throat against his girth and the demanding pulse of her heart, she pulls back and lifts her hips. Taking her cues, Jughead slides forward, pushing into her with a satisfyingly painful union. She cries out, forcing her hips up higher to take him deeper. The initial resistance of her body gives way to something slick, pleasant. His fingers dig into her backside as he tentatively settles his hips between her thighs. His face clenches, turning Betty on as he groans with the effort of moving against her clinging muscles. The push and pull is slow but powerful, and Betty soon finds herself wanting _more_ , angling her hips so his pubic bone slams into her clit. The jolt of pleasure makes her writhe against him, heels digging into his back. 

“Betty,” he murmurs, lightly sucking the spot between her neck and shoulders he normally massages in comfort. The mist of hot breath against her skin is enough to send a spasm accompanied by more wetness between her thighs, and Jughead groans at the feel of it. It’s not long before his hips jerk against her, the slams suddenly harder, less controlled, as he empties into her.

“ _Oh shit_ ,” she gasps, both from the impact and from realizing that her skirt is probably going to be soaked through when he pulls out. But having Jughead so thoroughly stretch and mark her makes her feel better somehow. Like aloe after a burn. He kisses her lips, expression still dazed, and it’s almost unsettling, although she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because she didn’t orgasm at the same time as him, or perhaps that they’ve done something so intimate amidst the chaos of their personal lives. Maybe it’s the embarrassment of being mostly clothed through the whole thing, of having initiated it in the Blue and Gold.

Jughead reaches behind them and grabs the tissue box from the desk, cleaning them up as she pants, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. Once they’re both relatively clean, he shoves the tissues aside and lowers his mouth to her.

“Jug?” she winces, instinctively shifting away.

“Just…let me,” he murmurs, and nothing but his hot mouth attaching itself to her clit can wipe the stunned expression from her face. His tongue makes long, languid strokes, and Betty’s legs start shaking so violently that she’s afraid she’s subconsciously tapping out something in morse code.

She swears, cut off, as one of his hands wraps around her thigh, the other prying into her with his fingers. The tension building within her snaps, and Jughead has to tighten his shoulder against her leg to avoid being crushed between her quivering thighs. That long, flat tongue keeps working her through the convulsions, and Betty shakes so hard against him that she suddenly wants to mark him with her sex, leave a smear of herself on his face. The violence in her subsides along with the orgasm. His eyes are bright, satisfied, as he presses one last kiss to her sex, rubbing it fondly before sitting up. Her juices are smeared along his lips, and she is fairly certain she’s never seen anything more satisfying than a disheveled Jughead slathered in sex. A hungry flare-up streaks through her entire body. She grips him hard by the back of his neck and pulls him to her for another lingering, salty, messy kiss. They whimper as they pull apart.

“I think we’d better cut it out before I need to have you again,” he murmurs dreamily, gaze flickering along her body.

Disappointed, she agrees, quickly helping him clean off his face while she rights her underside. To her pride and shame, her skirt _is_ soaked from sweat and sex. Jughead notices, and offers her his flannel that usually hangs by his side. “Here.” Just the gesture makes her heart flutter uncertainly. Is he _in_ their relationship now? Again? But like, for real this time? She takes the shirt before tying it primly around her waist to hide the wet spot on the back of her skirt. With a firm tug, he checks it. Their eyes hesitantly meet, but before they can say anything else, the bell rings, and they both scramble for the rest of their things.

Betty feels flushed, embarrassed. “I’ll get it back to you after school,” she promises, bolting for the door. He gets there first, arm sliding between her and the door to hold it open. Startled, she can’t help but look at him and think, “Why couldn’t we always be this thoughtful?” She knows she’s not perfect, and shouldn’t expect him to be, but it’s a wishful thought nonetheless, and she vows to try and make it a reality. He swallows, a flush still lurking on his cheeks, and she has to persuade herself move forward instead of kissing him in order to get to class on time.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything feels a little sore, a little damp in a pleasant, post-workout way. In fact, it distracts her so much that she doesn’t even think about anything other than Jughead’s touch long enough to catch the obvious raise of a camera in the hall.

Betty’s jerked out of her reverie by the flash, blinking, startled. The pink-haired girl behind the camera smiles, chiding, “ _Nice_ , Jones,” while eyeing Betty’s slightly disheveled state appreciatively.

Jughead smiles, bashful, and puts his arm around Betty. “She definitely is,” he muses fondly, only to get another photo taken in quick succession.

Betty’s certain her face is pinker than Toni’s hair. It isn’t quite _humiliating,_ being laid claim to, and laying claim to her man in their own way. Jughead certainly seems a little pleased, even proud. The good-naturedness of Toni’s response to their reunion takes a little edge off a resentment she didn’t even know she was harboring. In fact, Betty really wants to see the photos, to see if they look different now that her and Jughead…

Anxiety ripples through her for a second, and she has the sudden urge to ask Toni not to show those photos to her mom or dad. But Jughead’s fingers find her tension knot, and one look in his eyes pushes her heart rate into something a little more dangerous, something more amiable to what they’ve done in the Blue and Gold.

The mood is ruined by Cheryl Blossom snapping, “Are you hobos going to take up the entire hallway? Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer?”

Toni raises her eyebrows, smiling at the challenge. “Love to. Give us a smile?”

Scowling, Cheryl passes by and takes a seat in the classroom, but not without a little self-conscious hair ruffle. There is still a lot of anger in that girl. But watching Cheryl pull out a compact, double-checking her makeup, Betty realizes that Cheryl uses it to her advantage. She’s always been a little angry, a little mean, but even after her beloved brother’s murder at the hands of her father, she comes in to school every day and takes what she wants. It doesn’t work _all_ the time. Veronica still one-ups her at the Vixens once in a while, but it’s still a _life._ Even if she tried to end it at one point.

Betty moves forward, drawn to her.

“See you at lunch?” Jughead asks, drawing her back for one last second.

“Yeah,” she nods, too focused on her train of thought to truly smile. They don’t kiss, but squeeze each other’s arms reassuringly before parting ways…temporarily, this time.

After approaching Ghoulies, murderers, and her own family, Betty doesn’t even feel like she needs to steel herself to approach the head Vixen anymore.

Cheryl rolls her eyes. “What can I do for you, Cousin Betty?”

“I wanted to talk to you. About your dad.”

Surprised, Cheryl stiffens. Her posture relaxes into hesitant agreement, regarding the blonde before her. It’s not something people have really asked her about. “Okay. What about him?

“Did you know? Ever? Like, were there signs?” Big eyes, clutching her notebook, Betty hopes there’s a clue here. A salvation.

Letting out a sigh, Cheryl thinks about it. “In retrospect, yes. But I didn’t know for sure until you guys found the tape.”

“What would you do…what would you have done, if you had known before?”

“Like, if I had proof?” Cheryl asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah. Like, would you have turned him in to the police, or would you—“

“I would have killed him,” Cheryl says coldly, and from the hard look in her eyes, she means it. “If Daddy hadn’t done it himself, I would’ve killed that son of a bitch for taking away my JJ.”

Feeling broken, Betty’s finding it hard to breathe. Everything is zooming in and out focus around Cheryl’s words, struggling to find balance. “But did you still love him? Do you think he still loved you?”

“Sure. But Daddy loved JJ too. Loving someone doesn’t mean you won’t tear their heart out with a dinner knife. Or that they won't tear out yours.” Cheryl’s conviction derails Betty a little.

Feeling like her heart is being shrink-wrapped, Betty asks, “But…wouldn’t you feel guilty?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster,” Cheryl frowns, as if the question itself is offensive.

Betty’s brain feels like it’s whirring, about to start overheating. _That’s_ the difference between her father and her. Between Cheryl and Clifford. Hal never feels guilty. Of course, she can’t assume his emotions, but he’s never indicated guilt over anything she’s seen when it comes to their family. He never felt guilty about lying to his daughter, about sending the other one away, about trying to force an abortion, or even about calling them all crazy. Why would he feel guilty now about murdering people? Why would he stop? The thought makes her forget to breathe. What is she supposed to do with that? Because _she_ _feels_ …guilt, fear, longing, _everything_.

And she  _definitely_ has strong feelings for Jughead.

The redhead’s eyes glaze over Betty curiously. “Why ask now? Is this about the Ghoulies showdown with Janitor Freakface? Or are you thinking Jughead’s going to mark you as his woman and shoot up the school for banning leather?”

“Jughead wouldn’t do that,” she responds testily, still thinking, still analyzing.

Chewing her lip, Betty backs into her desk and takes out her notebook. "Thanks, Cheryl. You've given me a lot to think about," she mutters without registering if the redhead hears her. Sure, Betty _'s_  not Cheryl, or Clifford, or her father. But she’d stabbed Malachai. She’d nearly drowned Chuck. _Could_ she even kill her father, never mind _should_ she? Would that somehow be easier than facing the truth and trial that he’s a murderer who threatened to kill her sister?

No. She’s not a murderer. Not yet, anyway.

The teacher calls class to session, drawing Betty out of her own head. Cheryl still eyes the blonde, wondering what goes on behind that doe-eyed straight-A exterior.

 

* * *

 

At lunch, Jughead is inexplicably at Betty’s side, walking close enough to ruffle his legs the edges of his shirt hanging at her waist. Kevin pointedly raises his eyebrows at her new look. “Is flannel the new Letterman jacket?” he asks, sipping his coffee and following behind. It’s the first time Betty’s been in the lunch room in _ages,_ and coming in with Jughead is definitely a statement. Really they just couldn’t stomach being surrounded by the smell of sex while eating their lunch in the Blue and Gold. They might be tempted into doing it again, and Jughead wants her eating, keeping up her strength for whatever else is to come.

Betty flushes, trying to ignore Jughead’s lusty look at her thighs while they take their seats. “My skirt was damaged, so Jughead was nice enough to lend me his spare.”

“Jughead doesn’t have a _spare_ ,” Kevin notes, already working out a blurb for gossip column in his head. It’s possible he’s already taken a picture of them on his phone. “That flannel is an integral part of his aesthetic, his ensemble.” Jughead snorts at the idea of him having an _ensemble_. “And he gave it to _you_ …his supposed _ex…_ after damaging your _skirt._ ” Kevin’s eyes narrow on the pair. When neither comment, Jughead waiting for Betty’s cues, Kevin continues. “So Bughead is once more?”

Betty chokes on her milk, and Jughead narrows his eyes, concerned even as he rubs her back. Was that a laugh or just surprise at the use of their couple name?

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Archie asks, sliding in at the table like nothing ever happened. His eyes flicker warily over Betty, who seems like she’s in good hands for the moment. “Betty. Jug,” he nods, settling into his seat for a proper lunch with his friends.

“We were just discussing the renewed alliance of Riverdale High’s resident investigative duo,” Kevin preens, still eyeing them carefully as Veronica hesitantly takes her place next to Archie, trying to put together the social cues of what she’s missed. “So what do your south side friends of think Betty being in the middle of all this mess? I’ve noticed they’re sitting over there at their own table. Does that mean you’ve defected from the snakes?”

Jughead, of course, would probably prefer it just be him and Betty at lunch today. Maybe forever, but the question is a little heated so Jughead throws it right back at Kevin. “The _Serpents_ and I are on good terms. As are me and Betty,” Jughead responds testily, just a tad of haughtiness on the edge of his tone. His fingers grip against the grooves in her back, tracing through her clothes to make sure she’s still comforted in some way.

“How nice,” Veronica says with a carefully guarded smile, eyes flickering between the two of them. “We’re like one big happy family again.”

Betty’s eyes brighten, fixing on her former best friend. Veronica nods slightly, blinking to let her know _most_ , if not _all_ , is forgiven. It’s on the way there, at least.

“It's a good thing too, because my real family is a mess. How are yours doing?” Veronica asks, glancing around the table.

Everyone cringes except for Kevin, who responds, “Buried under paperwork, but at least the Jingle Jangle operation should be winding down at this point.”

Archie glances nervously at Betty and Jughead before turning to his girlfriend. “My dad is doing fine.”

“Fine, Archiekins?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“I mean, he’s moving around and stuff. But after talking to Betty,” he glances at her hesitantly, noting how stiff she is, “I guess there’s reason to believe that the Black Hood—that Svenson wasn’t the guy who shot my dad.”

Concerned, everyone at the table turns to look at Betty. A little put out, Betty puts down her fork.

“He said there have been copycats, guys who don the mask to get away with their own personal vendettas,” Betty says quietly, wiping her pink mouth. It makes Jughead’s heart stutter. “Not every guy in a black mask was a Hood, but…there may be reason to believe there’s more than one threat in our lives in Riverdale.”

Watching Betty deflate makes Jughead want to squeeze air back into her lungs.

“Who would want to shoot Fred if not the Hood?” Kevin asks, riveted and anxious all at the same time. 

“I don’t know,” Betty shrugs, feeling lighter as Jughead’s fingers ply her back. Maybe she can just float away.

“Well, I have an _idea_ ,” Archie frowns, glancing sidelong at Veronica.

The brunette stiffens, looking startled as her hands go into her lap. “My dad didn’t try to shoot yours, Archie.”

“You don’t think he hired somebody to do it?”

“No, of course not!” Veronica looks around the table for support in her defense. For the most part, she doesn’t find it. Only Betty seems slightly sympathetic, having recently discovered her own father’s monstrous tendencies. Scoffing, Veronica shakes her head. “For all we know, it was a Serpent who was mad about being fired, right?”

“Leave my people out of this,” Jughead warns, arm leaving Betty’s side as if he’s about to need his hands for a fight.

“Your _people_?” The brunette girl half-mocks, incredulous.

“Guys!” Betty snaps, interrupting before it can get any worse. “We _just_ got back together. Can we please not turn on each other? Let’s…do some digging around, see what we can find.” The group settles like disgruntled schoolchildren being reprimanded, but they nod in acquiescence to the blonde before them.

Jughead leans close enough that his breath tickles Betty’s cheek. He speaks low, intently, as if they’re the only people in the world who matter. It feels nice, doing this again. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this investigation? You’ve just been through something terrible.”

_I still am_ , she wants to confess, _and in some ways, so are you_. Instead, she clamps her lips and thighs together.

“I know,” is all she responds, squirming.

“The Ghoulies may still come after you, Betty,” Jughead warns softly, eyes flickering over the way his shirt drapes across her thighs. “They’re only going to be in jail for so long. And their families…their friends, may want vengeance.”

“That word…” Her nails dig into her milk carton, crunching it beneath her fingers. Jughead’s gaze narrows again, wondering what _is_ going on inside of Betty Cooper’s head. His fascinating pink and gold enigma. Blinking, he realizes they never really solidified if she’s _his_ …but her actions were definitely screaming some kind of _yes._ Even the reminder of their earlier tryst has him shifting, his arm reaching across to support her back.

The three on the opposite side of the table eye Betty and Jughead, trying to understand whatever lays unspoken between them.

Blinking out of her intensity, startled by a thought, Betty turns to Jughead. "What about your dad? With all the Ghoulies being processed, will he be okay in...?"

"Yeah," Jughead shrugs hesitantly, but the troubled look there betrays his doubts. "That's what he says, anyway. But the sooner we can get him out, the better."

"Maybe I can ask my Mom for legal advice," Archie offers, butting in without a second thought.

Surprise etches the concern momentarily off of Jughead's face. People  _outside_ of the Serpents care about him again, and it's sort of a weird feeling to get used to. "Thanks, Arch. But what are we going to do about the Ghoulies on your street?"

“I think my family can handle it,” Betty finally shrugs, letting out an angry sigh.

Kevin interrupts on that one, his spoon carving through the air. “Mama Cooper may be fierce, but not _take out an entire gang_ fierce.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she muses dimly, taking another bite of fruit salad. “Us Coopers can be pretty resourceful.”

Jughead’s thumb finds its way to her hip, kneading there. The sudden onslaught of attention is almost too much for her to handle, and he can sense her stiffen in apprehension. As a teenager with almost zero experience in _being_ comforted beyond the confines of Betty’s soothing hand or a hot meal, he’s not sure what else he can do. But at least the gang's—the non-Serpent gang's—back together again.

 

* * *

 

 

Alice has thankfully loosened _some_ of the reigns now that the Black Hood and Ghoulies have been rounded up, so she won’t be around to investigate the evidence-prone trash can in the Blue and Gold. Betty’s still not sure how she’s going to get around seeing Jug, though…especially if her dad decides to lurk around.

It feels nice, natural even, to have Jughead’s hand in the small of her back again, her head leaning against his shoulder briefly before she pulls out a chair at one of the computers.

“Wait,” he says gently, tugging her back by the shoulder. “Is there anything else you want to tell me that I don’t know from the paper?”

_Yes,_ her brain wants to tell him. _But not right now_.

Her shoulders swivel in his arms, swaying gently as she works out what exactly _to_ tell him without sounding totally insane. “The Black Hood said delivering justice has been a longstanding family tradition. That we’re _warriors._ ”

Her answer prompts a furrowed brow. “We? What, like, with the paper?” 

She shrugs, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. Why does she always seem to spill? “Let me ask you something,” she prompts. His eyes flicker to her tongue when she darts it out to wet her lips. “You always said you wouldn’t choose your father’s life. Now that you’ve joined the Serpents, have you changed your mind?” His gaze falters, confused. She presses harder, leaning into him. “Do you really think it’s possible to avoid the mistakes of our parents?”

“I—“

“Do you think we should punish them for it? Or punish ourselves?”

“Punish?” Jughead searches her expression for clarification, but she can’t give it to him. Whatever’s lurking behind her eyes seems to unnerve him a little bit. “Betty, I’ll _always_ love my Dad.” She nods, remembering him storming past her in the halls, swearing she should give up on FP, disappointment burning through his skin. But every time they found a clue, _something_ that might help him, Jughead’s eyes had shined with hope. He never _really_ gave up on him.

Taking a deep breath, Jughead shifts from side to side, absently touching his beanie. “I don’t think I could punish him beyond what’s already happened. My mom…Jellybean…jail.” Something compels him to ask again, to dig a little deeper. “Why does this matter? Are you asking…because of us? Are you worried about us? Because I am too. But I care about you, Betty.” His fingers slip into hers, rubbing the back of her hand. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this anymore. But I want to try.”

Eyes widening, Betty suddenly feels her heartbeat quicken. It's so  _sweet_. The corners of her mouth twitch into an involuntary smile, only to suddenly be overruled by panic. Her father would string Jughead outside by his throat if he found him hanging around the house, or even if he thought she was going to the south side to see him. “I'd love that, but we can’t.” The words comes out harsh, even to her own ears. “Yet. I—“

Further in her panic, she launches to his confused face in a deep, probing kiss. She needs to reassure him. And yet it feels like she’s boiling over, needing to displace her energy before it consumes her whole. At first he isn’t sure whether to give in, but hormones win out, and his fingers find their way into her hair, digging into her hip. It’s like the last time they were in this room, but with the added urgency of wanting to smother out any words. Her tongue slips past his, hungry, desperate.

“Ah—Betty—“ he recovers, pulling away. “What is it? I know you think there’s another killer, but—“

“It’s my dad, Jug,” the words cannon out of her, leaving the aftershock reverberating in her chest, on his face. Tears spring to her eyes, shame washing over her at his bewildered expression. “I think…I _know_ it’s my dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much as far as I have written/edited, so the next few updates may take a bit longer than the previous. We're nearing the end here but please let me know what you think to keep the motivational juices going! Otherwise all I have to live off of is hopeful Sprousehart from Comic Con and they HAVEN'T BEEN GIVING ME A LOT TO GO OFF OF. Harrumph. Celebrities and their personal lives. How rude. How are you feeling about the fic? Sprousehart? S3 Riverdale? Lemme know.


	7. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead and Betty investigate their respective mysteries, which leaves Betty in a vulnerable position with Hal, who reveals some of his dark intentions when it comes to passing the literal torch. Any disobedience will be punished, and both teens are bound to make some mistakes.

They sit in the office, Betty’s wet face nuzzled into the side of Jughead’s neck, his arms wrapped tight around her, stroking gently. It’s shocked him, so he can only imagine what’s it doing to her. Once her breathing steadies, he feels comfortable enough to enter investigation mode, albeit tentatively.

“So…Betty, I assume you’re going to the police?”

“I tried. But Sheriff Keller thinks it’s just some sort of post-traumatic fantasy,” she sniffs irritably, pulling back enough to talk to him face to face. Jughead makes a mental note to refer to Sheriff Keller as Barney Fife in his novel. “I need to find some kind of hard proof. But I just keep thinking…can I do that to my own _dad_?” A frustrated sigh burrows through her throat, her face contorting in fury. “I can’t _believe_ this! I can’t _believe_ that my father would be so heartless as to murder people in cold blood!”

“I know,” Jughead murmurs, feeling a familiar pang of the betrayal resurface from the Jason Blossom trial. His hand reaches out instinctively to cup Betty’s cheek. “You’ll get through this. We’ll… _we’ll_ get through this.” Somewhat simmering, Betty nods against his palm, and he finds it crazy that just by touch they have this ability to soothe each other’s rage. “So…I’m guessing I shouldn’t come by the house while your dad is a murdering psychopath who told you to cut me out, huh?”

“I guess not,” she says softly, wiping her face and taking on that far-away look, as if she’s reading her thoughts in some inner diary. “But I’m glad that you’re back, Jug. I really am.”

A little sliver of relief, of guilt still ripples through him. He _hadn’t_ been there. There was an absence of which he was returning _to_. But they’re back now. They’re back, he convinces himself, and buries his fear in a kiss before they turn back to the computers to research the downfall of yet another threat in their lives. Because he’s not going to waste any more time avoiding Betty Cooper.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s all cried out by the time she gets home, ignoring Alice’s fussiness, the background haze of homework. Whenever she feels her fingers edging towards her palms, she takes a deep breath and pictures Jughead’s concerned expression trained on her face. _We can get through this._ ** _I_** _can get through this._

Her brain still edges tentatively around the word _Warrior._

Eventually, she feels brave enough to grab her normal phone and turn it on, and it feels less like detonating a grenade this time. The notifications buzz through it for a minute, eventually stilling in her palm. She flicks through the notifications. A voicemail from Archie, simple words like, “Hey Betty. You get my texts? Call me.” Texts along a similar vein, ceasing once she’d clarified she was without phone.

An angry voicemail from her father. “Betty, WHY is your phone off? You should always have it on so I know you’re safe in this crazy town! Call me immediately.” Ironic.

Facing the old voicemail from Jughead is the hardest part. “Uh…hey. It’s me. Looks like we—my friends and I— might be transferring to Riverdale High. Thought maybe we should clear the air before I come back. Call me. Or something,” his voice drops off, defeated. Prior, he texts her. “Don’t know if I should tell you, but I’m being forced to move in with my foster family for real for a while,” then at her lack of response, “did you already know about this?” and then even later still, “Betty?” Even though they’ve clearly worked their way through this, it still maker her heart thud painfully against her chest. She remembers what it’s like to feel like she’s screaming into a void, distorted voices echoing back her own insecurities.

Wary of her parents going through her normal phone records, Betty grabs her burner phone and memorizes Jughead’s number, dialing quickly.

On the third ring he picks up, voice wary. “Hello?”

“Jug.”

“Betty,” he breathes, the relief palpable, even over the phone. “What is this? A new number?”

“No, it’s the burner phone my dad gave me. At least this way my parents can’t see that we’re calling or texting or…whatever.”

“Would _canoodling_ be the word you’re searching for? Or should I refer to it as _investigating_?”

Betty giggles, the noise sounding foreign to her own ears. “I think that might get confusing, especially now that we’re doing both.”

“Right, sorry. So…how are you?”

Teeth tugging at her lips, she looks at her unlocked bedroom door, listening for any new arrivals. “Just…thinking. Has Archie talked to his mom?”

“Yeah, actually. She said that the only way we can get him out early is if he trades information to the police or gets leniency from the family. Fat chance Cheryl will be prone to forgiveness when she spends half her day campaigning for the Serpents to get expelled, and Dad’s so stubborn that he still won’t turn in anything that may get back to the Serpents.”

Grateful to have something else to focus on, she sighs, rummaging her fingers to straighten the ponytail atop her head. “Well is there anything else? Any other information he might be able to trade?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that soon the Ghoulie-Serpent ratio in the local penitentiary is not going to be in my dad’s favor.”

Her teeth worry her lip, plucking at it. “Who in the Serpents did you ask about Archie’s dad?”

“Tall Boy. Why?”

Betty swivels in her desk chair, not sure if she should say it aloud for fear of insulting his new family. “Is he someone the Serpents can rely on to find information?”

“Yeah…”

“So…isn’t it unusual that he didn’t find _anything_?”

“I’m guessing he just heard about the Black Hood attacks and assumed they were all together.”

“Did he say who he talked to?”

“Betty—“ Jughead catches on. “What is this about? You think the Serpents tried to shoot Fred out of spite?”

“Not necessarily.” Her tongue plies the roof of her mouth, trying to find the right words. “I’m just thinking that maybe we can find a way to get FP some information to trade for his freedom.”

“Information about what? Clifford Blossom is already dead and you already stacked up a lot of evidence against the Ghoulies.” She can picture Jughead’s brows furrowing together, trying to think _with_ her.

“I don’t know, the Lodges? He accepted bribes from Hermione in the past. What if someone else is doing it in his place and that’s why Tall Boy doesn’t want to come forward?”

His hesitation lingers. “I don’t know. It’s not like throwing another friends’ parents under the bus is going to help the situation, Betty.”

“Eliminate the impossible and all that’s left is the possible,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you pulling an Agatha Christie on me?”

“Just _ask_ , Jughead. Talk to Sweet Pea or Toni or someone. Find out if Tall Boy really asked around. Oh—and take a good look at his eyes.”

His disbelieving scoff puffs through the phone. “ _Fine._ I’ll be weird and gaze into the eyes of a potential hit man, ask around. But when it turns into a dead end you owe me a milkshake.”

“Oh, Jug—“ she interjects quickly, before he can hang up. “I’m…I’m going to be doing some sleuthing of my own. On my dad. I’d normally ask you to come, but…with everything going on…”

“I get it. My head could end up on a pike.” An uneasy silence shifts between them with the same sticky feeling of muck clumping and falling off their feet. “I’d still do it, though.”

Betty softens like butter in the sunlight. “No, Jug. I love you. Focus on your dad. I can do this on my own. I have to.”

“Isn’t there _anyone_ you can trust? Someone he _hasn’t_ threatened to cut into pieces?”

Most of her friends hadn’t exactly come out smelling like roses after the Jingle Jangle debacle. If Betty _was_ caught, the only person she can think of who wouldn’t be afraid of her father is actually, surprisingly, her mother. “Maybe my Mom.”

“What?! Are you going to tell her that her husband’s Norman Bates?”

“I don’t know, Jug. This is all…weird. I’m just going to play it by ear.”

“Be safe, Betty.”

“Be safe, Jug.” She pauses, relishing the fact that he hasn’t hung up yet, that he’s not brushing her off like just a few weeks ago. “I love you.”

“I love you too _._ ”

The call ends, but the sentiment doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Her mother is just as at ease, just as disapproving in the hallway of a neutral apartment complex as she is everywhere else.

“I still think this is insane.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who doesn’t like locked doors,” Betty mutters, kneeling next to the apartment door with a few small metal instruments to help things along.

“What are you—? Oh my god, Betty. When you said you knew how to get in I thought you meant he’d told you about some hideaway rock or something.” The lock clicks open, surprising Alice. “Actually…that’s impressive,” she amends, Betty stepping aside. Alice Cooper arches an eyebrow, casually regarding her daughter, appreciating the new skill and filing it away somewhere in her brain for future use. “Well? Aren’t we going to go in?” To Betty’s surprise, Alice strides in ahead of her, distaste rising in her voice. “ _Beans_? After all the home cooked meals I’ve graced with him he’s just fine eating a can of baked beans?”

“Gloves, mom. Be careful what you touch.” The reminder draws Alice’s focus from the disheveled state of the apartment and onto the real purpose of their mission. All Alice knows is that Betty thinks something is _wrong,_ and thankfully that was enough for her to agree to come along.

The apartment paints a very different picture of her father than living in a house with him for 16 years did. From the immaculate way he always kept the garage and the Register office, Betty thought he was clean, like her mother. Immaculate. A planner. He likes things running smoothly. But here, the bed is unmade, unwashed cans of food stain the counters, and everything has the faint smell of what she thinks might be vodka. Or is it gin? Nancy Drew never had a section on how to distinguish different alcohol, and as a somewhat sheltered 16-year-old her life experience hadn’t really gotten that information either. It’s not quite the same smell the Jones’s trailer used to have when FP was practically excreting beer through his pores, but it’s a similar vibe. It unnerves and embarrasses her. She knows it did the same for Jughead before FP cleaned up.

Where would he keep his secrets? “Mom, could you go through Dad’s sock drawer?” Betty asks, already scanning his book shelf.

“Why?” Alice asks disdainfully, shifting an arm through his things. “Your father probably doesn’t have it in him to conduct an affair.”

“I think there’s a lot about dad we don’t know,” Betty murmurs, voice scratchy as her fingers find the Nancy Drew decoder book from his first letter. How was it possible to know someone so well and so little? How could he know that she loved Nancy Drew and expect her to be some kind of vengeful murderer as well?

“What is _this_?” Alice gasps, and for one stupid second Betty’s afraid it’ll be something dirty, like fuzzy handcuffs. Although truthfully, she could probably use a pair…for apprehending people. But instead her mother comes away with a mask and a thick paint brush. Betty can only imagine what he’d want to use _that_ for. A sickening tug in her stomach reminds her of the words _Serpent Slut_ painted on her locker doors in pig’s blood. Was her father the kind of man who would paint the world with hatred? With fear?

Is _that_ why he ran the Register? To use ink when blood ran dry?

Alice stares at her daughter, dumbfounded, picking at the evidence. “What is he doing? Role playing to try and figure out who the Black Hood is? Svenson is dead.”

“Mom…I told you…Svenson said he wasn’t acting alone,” Betty says quietly, eyes carefully searching her mother for traces of recognition.

“But Sheriff Keller said…” Alice trails off, curiously moving the fabric between her fingered gloves. Her mother's a whole other kind of shrewd investigator. “Your father is too smart to get pulled into some ridiculous thing like this,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I mean, why? Why tempt me and you with the letters?”

“Why didn’t the Hood ever write _him_ a letter?” Betty clarifies, stepping closer. “And after you made it clear you thought he was a psycho, you were the first person he wanted me to cut off. What if he used Svenson to...do whatever this was. Scare people. After losing Polly and not being able to intimidate her into doing what he wants? It kinda makes sense...”

Her mother’s face twists into subdued anger. “Hal better not be some deranged serial killer. Do you know how many times that man has called _me_ crazy?!”

“Mom!”

The bizarre reaction has Betty on edge, clutching the Nancy Drew book to her chest. Her heart swells painfully, like she’s unable to let out the tainted blood in her veins.

Alice recovers, decidedly taking photos and video as evidence. “Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. _Why_ would he do it? We can’t just say it was the Blossom family rivalry that drove him to shoot kids who used their drugs.”

“We don’t need to _say_ …anything,” Betty offers. “If he did it, all we need to prove is that he was there, that he collaborated with Svenson. That’s probably why his knife wound wasn’t even severe. He just wanted to make a statement and make sure I got the message, test my loyalty to him and to the Hood. Some kind of therapist would have to decipher the _why_.” Even as the words come out of her mouth, she can’t help but wish she _had_ that education, able to decipher the clues she can’t read yet. Why had he changed? Or had he? And why had _her_ speech triggered it all?

“Oh please, a therapist would have to dig through years of mommy/daddy issues on that one,” Alice scoffs. Betty’s never really heard much about her grandparents on either side. They’ve been dead as long as she can remember. Her spark of curiosity grows, emboldened by the framed photo on her father's desk. Their family. Smiling, cringing inside as Betty was prodded and poked into the perfect daughter for show. She wonders how far back this insanity in her family goes...how far it'll keep going.

Her mother pops open her father’s planner. “Figures. The dates of the murders…” Alice’s eyes scan the book silently, her face settling in a dissatisfied frown. She snaps some more pictures and closes it. Betty’s heart plummets into her stomach. She knows it’s true, but…to be able to _prove_ it. Frazzled, Alice does a quick sweep of the rest of the apartment, muttering about dust bunnies and _men_ and…leaving a man alone for _two minutes_ …

It’s all so…depressing. How quickly everything can unravel. How quickly it _did_ unravel. Polly. Jason. Jughead. Veronica. Her father. Were all people, all relationships, so _fragile_? But they could be pieced back together again, right? She was back with Jughead. Veronica and her were on their way to being friends. Maybe her dad…with the right amount of counseling…could be _Hal_ again. Not some crazed stranger alias: The Black Hood. But why were some relationships salvageable and others not? It couldn’t _just_ be the Coopers who shattered spectacularly.

“So…is there anything else we should bring to the police?” The apartment looks disappointingly ordinary. Dark furniture. Books. “Do you think he keeps a gun too? Or is he more the stabbing kind?” The question borders on sardonic, and she wonders if she’s been spending too much time with Jughead. But that’s impossible.

“Your father can’t shoot worth a damn. Then again, neither could the Hood, so he may have _something_ ,” Alice admits, shoving her arm under the mattress.

“You’re taking this pretty well, Mom. Better than I did,” Betty murmurs, fingers fraying at the edges of the much-beloved book in her hands, the smooth edge of the picture frame. Everything feels sticky, like varnish not quite set. All these imperfect stains on her childhood.

Letting out a huff, Alice gets off her knees and makes her way to the door. “Well, Betty…when you’ve been in this town for 30-some years you start to realize that you can’t trust _anyone_. We’ve all got our darkness, some more lethal than others. Although your father’s potential identity is a _surprise_ , it’s something I can handle.”

The finality of her mother’s tone unnerves her, even as Alice's eyes harden to steely resolution, fingers only slightly trembling as she backs up the evidence to a cloud device.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Mom?”

The sharp laugh that replies is anything but reassuring.

 

* * *

 

The cold gnaws at her skin, but Betty’s face is reddened for emotional reasons as Cheryl Blossom opens the door.

“Cheryl…I have a huge favor to ask.”

Alarm flits over Cheryl’s pale face. “Is it Polly?”

“No. Sort of. Look,” Betty shivers, not wanting to stuff her hands in her pockets because she feels helpless enough as it is. “My dad…my dad may be going away for a long time. Mom’s at the police station trying to get some evidence admitted, but…I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Jason. I’m sorry about your Dad. I—“ The words don’t freeze in her throat so much as rearrange in her mind. “I’m sorry about Riverdale.”

A little startled, Cheryl shifts in the doorway. “And how is this a favor?”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, but if you could…forgive FP, at least in front of a judge, that might make this town a modicum better.” Cheryl’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Betty lowers her voice. “He did something awful, Cheryl, and I know he’ll be making up for it the rest of his life. He’ll want to. He’s not—he’s not like _our_ dads. He makes mistakes. He feels guilty. And for a while, he was getting better. He’s still getting better. I think it hurts him to know how much he hurt Jughead by doing what he did, I think he finally… _cares_ about him. He took a fall for him for something he didn’t even _do_. And while he certainly doesn’t deserve your forgiveness for being complicit in your dad’s cover-up, Jughead deserves the chance to have a father who’s finally going to protect him instead of hurt him, like our dads did to us.”

Cheryl’s voice is steady, smoldering. “I can’t believe you would ask me that.” The disapproval radiating off of her is almost enough to warm Betty against the chill.

“I’m not angry at Svenson. Or even Malachai. They were broken, and we are too. I’m just…hoping that some people can be put back together, and I think FP is one of them. Maybe even reborn, like you must have felt after the fire.” The brilliant redhead brightens in front her, but Betty is drawn into her own thoughts. “I have to be better than my father, than my mother. That’s doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes, have my own sins. I have to forgive people instead of trying to control them, judge them, or even punish them. I have to forgive myself for wanting to.” The ice in her veins starts to thaw, trickling through her limbs to the point it makes her fingers tingle, but this time only the pads of her fingers touch down on her palms.

“Sounds like a flawed system,” Cheryl sniffs, crossing her arms, but a fine glaze over her eyes hints she may be more affected than she lets on.

Betty’s mouth tugs up in a halfhearted smile. “It is. Even the law isn’t always justice, but I promise you Cheryl, I’m not going to give up on this town. Not yet. I…I will find some way to atone for my father’s sins, Jughead’s and yours too, if that’s what it takes. This is _our_ home, and—“

“Actually, it’s mine,” Cheryl interrupts, and Betty pauses, taken aback. It’s not often one of her speeches is derailed. “Look, you can stand there and wax poetic all night, but I’m still not going to change my mind.”

The blonde isn’t sure what to say. Her cards are already on the table.

“Come in and have some chamomile before you go. I’d have to hate explaining to Juniper and Dagwood why their godmother froze to death on my doorstep.” Although the door barely looks wide enough to slip through, Betty steps into the light.

 

* * *

 

The rollicking garage door screeching on its hinges might as well be an earthquake, because there’s only one person with that code who could be walking through right now.

“Dad?” Betty calls out, trying to shove down the impending panic in her voice. Mom is still at the Sheriff's office, per her text. Betty's father strides into the kitchen like it’s any other Tuesday, eyes bright and green. It’s _almost_ like he’s _Hal_ again. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw your mother’s car was gone. Just thought I’d stop by to check in on things, make sure that ratty ex-boyfriend of yours wasn’t going to try and make an appearance.”

_Ratty?_ Even his language seems _off_ lately. “No one else is here, Dad.” The words are meant to be reassuring, but now she wonders if they're an invitation to his dark mind.

His eyes hover around the rest of the house, like it’s still his domain, like he wants to pour bleach over the whole thing and sip his coffee at the able, writing the latest edition of The Register. The days of pretending that everything is _fine_ are over. His eyes harden, focusing on his daughter. “Do we need to have a talk, Betty?”

“I don’t…know what to say.”

He inhales deeply through his nose, nodding to the point of rocking back and forth, only grounded by his lack of hip movement. “Are you in this, Betty? Really _in_ this?” He waits, more for her compliance than a response, before continuing. “Polly would never understand. It’s better that it was you. We understand each other. We understand the cause.”

In some ways, Betty wishes that she didn’t, that this wasn’t some horrible nightmare just beyond the edge of her understanding. She’s read the articles, both the ones by her dad and her mom. Her father paints Svenson as deranged—not for calling out an innocent man, but for letting it drive him insane. _Coopers don’t make mistakes_ , he used to tell her, jamming her report card until it crumpled beneath his fingers.

“Dad, do you know who shot Archie’s father?” she asks quietly.

Hal snorts. “Not yet, Betty. But it doesn’t matter.”

Despite what he could do to her, Betty fixes him with a glare. Her father _has_ to be in there somewhere. “He’s _innocent_ , Dad. I know we’re supposed to be some kind of avenging angels but doesn’t that include protecting people? Protecting Riverdale?”

“No one in this town is innocent. You should remember that.”

“Not even me. Certainly not you either.” The words clatter to the floor between them. Hal’s eyes widen, angry.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through, young lady. No _idea_. What I do for _you_ …for this _family_ …so you’d best respect your elders. Let me tell you something about the Cooper-Blossom family...”

He gleans into a monologue that only half makes sense about one Blossom/Cooper brother killing another (the curse Cheryl sometimes mentions), then wiping out another family, only to bully the sole surviving son (Svenson) into pointing out the wrong man so they could continue their work of eliminating their, and by extension the town's enemies. Hal’s been waiting to resume his duties ever since, and the Blossom murder reignited that Blossom-Cooper call for blood, the mantle he thinks she’ll be ready to take up now that she's said that we _MUST DO BETTER._  Instead of behaving better, treating each other better, he takes her speech and twists it into some kind of call for a purge. Hal promises he'll have her watch all the old recordings, the old teachings of his family, left behind so when the town is purified they’ll know its history.

Betty’s too afraid to check her phone to see if it’s recording, to see if she’s called her mother successfully through her pocket. It’s not like she’d be able to hear _well_ anyways, even if she did. Randomly mashing buttons was her closest hope.

“I think you need _help,_ Dad,” Betty implores.

“That’s why I had Svenson. That’s why I have _you_.”

The implication horrifies her, but not as much as the shrill sound of her burner phone going off in her other pocket. Her father recognizes the ringtone, having _set_ it, most likely, and narrows his gaze.

“Who’s that?”

“N-nobody. It can’t be,” she shrugs, silencing it with a fierce push of her thumb. “It’s probably mom or some other person asking about the latest English assignment. People forget those all the time.”

“Betty…who else besides me even _has_ that burner phone number?”

“Nobody, Dad,” she breathes, heartbeat racing. “I mean, I don’t know. Those phone numbers probably cycle through all the time. The Sheriff may just be testing numbers on Svenson’s if he got it working.”

He moves towards her. “And more importantly, _why_ would they, when you’ve turned your main one back on? Come to think of it…it’s kind of odd you have it with you at all.”

Again, she’s gripped with the cold realization that her father is perfectly intelligent, analytical, but perhaps delusional. Why would a heartless man watch a home video of his daughter after forcing her into a home for troubled youths? It just—it burns her like acid, these contradictions.

The lie tumbles out unanticipated. “I kept it in case you needed me and didn’t want to use the main number. I know you said to lay low for a while, but I didn’t know…if it was over…as far as the burner phone goes.”

Pausing, he considers her. He knows she’s smart, probably too smart for her own good. “Give it to me.”

“The phone?” Her fingers run over the black communication device, praying to keep it safe. “But…what if I need it?”

“You don’t. The only people you need to be in contact with are me and your mother. Give me the burner phone. When the time comes, I’ll give it back.”

“I—Dad…” His green eyes seem vaguely translucent, like jello gone sour. Without the patented Cooper smile or typical judgmental frown she’s barely able to recognize him. He doesn’t even want her talking to _Polly_? His hand looms, waiting impatiently for her to obey.

It’s not the Cooper obedience that makes her hand it over, though. It’s calculated self-preservation. He’s probably more interested in her loyalty than the number on the phone. There’s only one _living_ person besides her dad with that phone number. Jughead. But maybe…maybe it’s Sheriff Keller. She prays it’s Sheriff Keller.

Her father flicks open the phone, not recognizing the number. Perhaps that’s enough. But before she can protest, Hal calls the number back. There are most definitely weapons in the kitchen, most of them knives kept in the far drawer. A zester probably wasn’t going to do the job. Betty bites her lip, wondering if she should’ve faked an accident with the sink and just sprayed water all over the phone to make it unusable. That might’ve been a tad suspicious. Contrived. But better than Hal finding out—

“Betty?” A familiar voice crackles on the other end, her blood running cold.

Hal snaps the phone shut. “You said you _cut him out!_ ”

“I did! Dad! He’s probably calling about Fred!”

“Why the hell does he have this number, Betty? Have you been using our special line to call that Serpent scumbag?”

“ _I—!”_

The phone smashes against the tile floor, ground into even worse shape by her father’s heel. Betty’s fingers claw into her own hair, trying to shield her ears from the noise.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch. And you’re going to watch me.”

“Dad!”

Panicked, Betty moves forward. To what? Hug him? Hold him back? Strike him? Hal grabs her wrist and twists, as if she’s a child and she’s going to her room _right this darn minute_. Her free hand reaches for the knife drawer and hesitates. She doesn’t want to do it. She doesn’t want to slice and dice her father, nor does she want Jughead anywhere _near_ this nut job. Maybe she can reason with him. Bargain with him.

“You said we need to lay low! How is killing my Serpent ex-boyfriend going to help anything? They think the Black Hood is dead. Dad! _Dad!_ ” she shrieks as he drags her into the garage. Scary movies have taught her there are a _lot_ of ways to die in here. A lot of ways to kill, too, her brain reminds her. Maybe the cops are still outside. They must be. They’ll see them fight and come to the rescue. Maybe. For once. Nauseated to dizziness, Betty’s internal struggle allows Hal the opportunity to toss her into the car.

“Now you sit there and you shut up. You have lost your privileges,” her father demands, backing up and out of the driveway. 

As if allowing her to live was some kind of _privilege_. As if torturing her, isolating her for _weeks_ was special attention that Polly was somehow unworthy of. Betty was the _chosen bearer_.

The warrior.

The door unlatches quickly, and she’s able to kick it open before her father swerves violently, forcing the door back shut due to simple gravity. Child lock goes on, and Betty’s eyes narrow on the interior of the car. It’s just like when they were little, unable to escape. Her father had overridden the manual unlock feature after Polly had run away the first time.

“Seriously, Betty? You’re being childish. Now accept your punishment like a good girl. My parents once killed my dog because I didn’t obey them, and wouldn’t you know, I never disobeyed them again. Your priorities are to your family.”

The sheer conviction in his rationale makes Betty’s mouth fall open. “They were _abusing_ you, Dad. You don’t have to do this. We can just go home. We can—“

“No, no,” he mutters, quickly changing lanes to head to the south side trailer park. Betty’s certainly not going to correct him and oust Jughead’s foster family. The police car that was supposed to be circling their house isn’t in view.

Betty’s hands press against the cool glass window of the car, feeling caged. Her green eyes flicker down the street. “Where are the cops? Aren’t they supposed to be on the lookout right now?”

“Riverdale is full of sin. They were called away to arrest another one of those Serpent scum you’re so intent on protecting. Just another day to deal with more of this town’s mess,” he shakes his head, eyes focused on the road. Of course he’d know. They have a police blotter, a radio that picks up those calls at the Register. That’s how he knew he’d be free to come find her.

Something in her wants to scream that _they are_ Riverdale’s mess, and it takes considerable force to swallow and keep it in place in order to try and check her phone in her pocket.

Her fingers slide over the dial pad, most recent call to her mother. Twice. That’s good. Maybe her mother heard their previous conversation, but she needs the key pad for 911. “Don’t you dare,” her father warns, and she’s not sure how he’s so hyper aware that he can see her palm her phone on the far side. They’re skidding into the trailer park, but she doesn’t see Jughead’s telltale motorcycle. Maybe he’s not home. Part of her is praying for Serpents to be outside, brandishing their own weapons.

“Give me your phone.”

“Why? So you can destroy this one too?” she asks, clinging to it like it’s her last lifeline. Subtly, she keeps trying to dial her mother. Hal pushes her back, snatching the phone from her hands and saying into the mouth piece. “Alice. Betty just broke some rules so I’ll take care of punishing her,” before abruptly hanging up on her mother’s lilted threats and unlocking his side door with a special key.

While he’s distracted, Betty pops open the glove compartment in search of a weapon. Scrambling through the contents, her hands only find paper, even as a sharp thud against her head sends her smashing into the glass window on her side.

“I said, _leave it_ ,” her father hisses, reaching over her to check her pockets for anything else. Betty’s still seeing stars and black stripes across her vision as she realizes he’s tossed her phone into the trunk and locked her in. Everything’s spinning. Hal uses a paintbrush she recognizes from his apartment and dips into an unscrewed container from his trunk. He paints a giant leering skull demon on the side of the trailer, and with a few blinks she sort of recognizes it as the Ghoulies insignia. But it’s not…paint. Her muddied brain sifts, slowly putting it together as he tosses more of the liquid onto the other side of the trailer, all down its stairs. It’s gasoline. Her father is planning on burning down the Jones’s trailer, with or without Jughead in it.

Betty wrenches the door latch so hard it nearly dislocates her shoulder. The crack in the window isn’t nearly big enough to break without some kind of metal weapon. She may have adrenaline, but even Archie broke his hand on Sweetwater River’s ice, so she can only imagine what repeatedly trying to widen the crack in the car door will do to her. Whipping herself across the seats, Betty pries open the bottom of the steering wheel, honking as she does so, praying somebody comes out to stop him.

Hal shakes his head at her, disappointed, before flicking a lighter at the Ghoulies insignia. The puff of fire shocks her, its impact making Hal stutter back. Jughead’s trailer lights up, just the one side for now. She thinks of all the memories lurking there, the last remaining relic of the Jones family as a whole. The Ghoulies insignia cackles as it consumes, her father basking resolutely in the destruction.

Her fingers find the right combination of wires, the car roaring to life. As she shifts into Drive, she stares down her father. His head moves almost imperceptibly, _no_. Like she’s still his little girl, hand poised just above the cookie jar.

She remembers when he used to sigh, lifting her on the counter, saying something like, “Your mother wouldn’t like it, Betty, and truth be told, neither would I.” Her little throat would constrict with guilt, doe eyes enlarged. “You wouldn’t want to upset us, would you?” She’d shake her little head, in pigtails instead of her signature ponytail bag then. “No. Because you love us, Betty, and we love you,” he’d say, hands on either side of her legs so she felt safe and trapped all at the same time. “And we never upset the people we love, isn’t that right?”

Polly and her used to fight all the time. They loved each other, it was just natural when her big sister didn’t want her around all the time and she was bored and lonely and the boy next door wasn’t home. Other people fought too. “But you and mommy get mad at each other and you love each other, right?” she’d asked cautiously, glancing at the cookie jar.

Hal hardened at that, leaned very close before taking a deliberately giant step back. “See what happens, Betty. Take a cookie from that jar and see what happens.” His gaze didn’t waiver, even as she tentatively moved towards the jar. She wasn’t even sure she wanted it anymore, and glanced hesitantly at her father. His face showed no emotion, green eyes hard and discerning. Would she be punished? Certainly not struck, not spanked like at the Jones house. She’d probably be forced into time out, not able to see Archie or Polly or anyone for hours. It was just a snack. Betty trembled with indecision, her fingers taking the lid off the cookie jar. But her father’s slow, audible inhale made her put it back, looking back at him bashfully.

“That cookie may not destroy your life, Betty Cooper,” he would lecture, leaning against the counter. “But breaking our trust…that’s enough to destroy our family.”

It was a horrible thing to say to someone so young, but she had nodded, tears dripping down her face as he lifted her off the counter and put her back on the floor. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Her parents’ insane expectations forced her to be brave, to be strong, to be sharp. It’s like they wanted her to be a knife, able to smooth on one edge, shiny and untarnished, sharp enough to slice through this town on the other. In some ways, they encouraged her to punish herself, to punish others via exposés and harsh stares. Betty wants to fight it, to let the legal system to be the ones who deal with her father. But here they are, unapologetically destroying yet another family, and Betty’s sick of watching her own fall apart and trying to keep it together at the expense of everything else. The car lurches forward, a battering ram against her broken childhood.

Hal moves, fast enough that only his knee gets badly damaged. Cursing, he slams his fist on the roof of the car and scrambles to grip the drivers side handle. People start coming outside, gasping, calling 911, while some just stand and take pictures, watching the world burn.

Not wanting to destroy the trailer park, Betty switches into reverse, trying to propel herself out of there, maybe even run down her traitorous father again.

“Betty!” he snaps, successfully wrenching the door open and kicking her thigh. The shock still reverberates through her that her _father_ has smashed her head, kicked her thigh, bruised her arm. He’s never _hit_ _her_ before. At least, not that she can remember. She just remembers being held down, pushed into a corner, onto her bed, being ordered to be a good girl and left alone for hours on end. Suppress. Feel the bite of pain in her palms cutting through it all.

It’s all a blur as her father forcibly drags her from the car, throwing her onto the hard ground below. “What are you thinking, Betty? That boy is going to write you as a hero in the Blossom murder mystery? He will use you and leave you just like that snake father of his used your mother.”

“What?” She can barely hear above the roar in her ears, unsure if the sting of tears is from the abuse or the smoke. _Oh my god. His novel._ Betty realizes that even if Jughead isn’t in there, his manifesto probably _is._ That story is probably as much a part of him as anything else.

To everyone’s confusion, Betty scrambles to her feet and runs to the trailer, bursting through the front door amidst shouts of protest. The waves of heat warp everything, making the trailer a little surreal and wavy. Stumbling, she makes her way to the couch, no book bag in sight. The back section of the trailer is just as bare, not even a fire extinguisher in sight. Jughead has _so little left to take_. But she spots the dog stuffed animal his father gave him for his birthday and snags it, frantically trying to think where his laptop could _be_.

_The foster home_ , she realizes, feeling reckless and selfish and stupid for thinking she even _had_ to save it. Her legs carry her out of the trailer of their own accord, still clutching Jughead’s soft memory against her chest.

Hal keeps shaking his head, a gun now in hand, just low enough where most of the people who’ve come outside can’t see it. She must look like a little girl, standing there with a stuffed animal against a man with a gun. He must’ve hidden the weapon in a false liner somewhere in the car. Betty’s heart throbs, wondering if she should just go back in the trailer and let everything burn.

 

* * *

 

Everything is calmer by the river. Her fingers have worked their way into the fur of Hot Dog. She remembers its name now, the way Jughead’s shoulder felt relaxed and smooth under her cheek, a shy fond smile on his face. If she has to die, this isn’t the worst way to go.

She closes her eyes, back against the tree, trying to breathe. Thankfully her father had been so stunned by her bolting past the trailer park that he’d taken off after her on foot, leaving the bystanders alone. As a sixteen-year-old with lots of self-defense and Vixens training under her belt, Betty’s heart and legs carried her farther than her father’s line of sight, away from the bullet he tried to send her way. Following the river led her past the spot of Jughead’s almost-death, beyond where Cheryl and Jason said their last goodbyes. Maybe she should keep running. Out of Riverdale, away from her past.

The sounds of the river comfort her, and Betty finds herself tracing letters in the dirt, the same pattern she drew on Jughead’s mirror. Their initials, a heart, and a crown. She’s love to carve it into the tree bark. A last goodbye. A forever scar. But there’s nothing metal here to use, not even a particularly sharp stick. The irony makes her chuckle. Riverdale is dangerous enough for _two_ gangs, killer families, and yet there isn’t even a sharp stick to carve a tree with? She should get moving. Find the police. A car, a phone. But the fear of finding her father first keeps her standing by the babbling river a little longer.

She marches forward, Hot Dog cradled carefully in her arms. Before, she was willing to protect everyone else from the killer, whatever the cost. Maybe she’s done the wrong thing again by not going with him. But Betty can’t stand the thought of being tethered to him, of being trapped into torturous obedience any longer. Finally she spots a car along the road and flags it down. As it pulls up, her reflection in the polished finish strikes her as a grown-up Nancy Drew. Her blonde ponytail is matted with blood on one side, but still very much in place. The stuffed animal between her arms is so soft, so innocent and childlike against the markings on her throat and chest. Smoke dusts her skin, other parts of it blossoming in pink and red from exercise. But her eyes still stand out. The aquamarine shifts, reflecting Sweetwater River.

This is a Riverdale warrior.

 

* * *

 

Jughead swerves on his motorcycle, skidding to a stop on the edge of the road. “Whoa, hey, hey,” Fangs calls, accidentally overshooting. Jughead can’t even hear him, already answering the phone.

“Where is she? Is she okay?!”

Fangs lets out a sigh, swinging a leg over the motorcycle and scanning the tree line for anybody else out there.

The words after, “She’s here” just sort of buzz into the background for Jughead. His pulse finally migrates down, slowing, and for a second he thinks he might faint or activate light speed in order to get to her. He wants to throw up and cry.

Fangs must sense it, because soon the tall Serpent is at his side, gently guiding him to a tree to lean against, ignoring the heaving breaths from his friend.

“I’ll be right there.” Jughead manages, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion raging through him. The phone line goes dead. Relief. Anger. Guilt. Hopelessness overwhelmed by fierce determination.

A brisk walk near the river should help clear his head. He needs clarity, calm to deal with all of this. Tall Boy’s a traitor. Betty was right to suspect him, apparently trying to get into the hard drug trade and undermine FP and Andrews the whole time. Nothing surprised him more, however, than receiving a call from Mary Andrews informing him that Cheryl agreed to accept FP’s apology in court next week. There was _no way_ the redhead had reached that conclusion alone, especially not after she slapped the shit out of him in the cafeteria after his own apology weeks ago.

In Jughead’s _stupidity_ and his _excitement_ he’d called the last number he’d reached Betty on, the burner phone. He thought it was safe. He thought _she_ was safe. But the only answer was silence, followed by the sickening click of hanging up. At first he thought maybe she just couldn’t talk at the time, had answered and hung up to silence the ringing. Even as he paced outside the Wyrm, something felt _wrong_. Within ten minutes, multiple Serpents’ phones went off, texted pictures of a flaming Ghoulies insignia on the side of his trailer. They’d leaped on their bikes, storming down to the trailer park, but there weren’t any Ghoulies to speak of, only a smoldering trailer, still foaming from everyone trying to get together and use their fire extinguishers. Jughead couldn’t ignore the irony that he’d once been arrested for playing with matches and now his home was up in flames. It felt like some kind of weird twisted karma, the universe having one last laugh at his expense right after delivering the good news for his dad.

People milled about, still settling the fire, others recounting what they’d seen, even as cop sirens blared nearby.

“There was a girl, blonde girl with a ponytail and jeans. Jones’s girlfriend I think? She tried ramming a car into the guy who did it I think, honking up a storm, but then he dragged her out of the car and she ran back into the trailer for something. Last I saw her she was running into the woods, blood and smoke in her hair, the man gone after her. Might’ve had a gun—something black in his hands, because we heard a shot. He came back a few minutes later for his car and took off in that direction.”

It was like the entire Earth shifted and Jughead lost his footing. _Betty_. Betty was here. Betty was _bleeding_. Betty’d been _shot_?

“Jug—Jughead! Stay with me,” Fangs had said, lifting him up by the lapels of the leather, even as he slanted towards the ground in the direction the bystander’d pointed.

“Oh my god what if she’s dead? What if the Ghoulies kidnapped or _killed_ my girlfriend, Fangs? I’m supposed to _protect_ her,” he pleaded, feeling like something within him’d been torn open, burning along with his trailer.

“We don’t know it was the Ghoulies. We don’t even know if she’s dead. Sounds like it was just one guy,” Fangs reasoned, turning his head to look at the trailer. It wasn’t _completely_ hopeless, by the looks of it. One guy. One gun. Ten minutes.

“Hal.” Fangs blinked, the name not sounding familiar. “Betty was investigating her dad in the Black Hood murders. I bet it was Hal! If he answered the—Oh my god, Fangs, we have to find her. And him. Tell the police—“

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell them. But you are _not_ going out there alone. Let me go with you. We’ll find her.”

In the minute and a half it took Fangs to come back, Jughead texted Archie, Kevin, and even Veronica a red alert. Even though they all called to check in, Jughead was on the move, propelling forward in the hopes he’d find his girlfriend alive and safe. All Kevin’d said was that Sheriff Keller was already looking for Hal, that Alice had turned in some evidence her and Betty had found. But the update call just now said she was at the station, giving her statement. Someone’d found her by the road. Someone _not_ Hal.

She was okay. She’d be okay. He’d be okay. As long as they were okay…

 

* * *

 

He’s too invested in making sure she’s alive to notice anything else, his hands seeking confirmation along with his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Jug,” Betty assures him, nuzzling her cheek into his palm. It’s cool against his palm, nearly clammy, so unlike her normal radiant warmth. Red rims the outside of her beautiful bright eyes, and he feels like he’s falling, leaning forward to kiss her until something gets in the way. Startled, he looks down at the thing between her arms bumping against his chest. His stuffed dog Hot Dog peeks up at him innocently, none the worse for wear.

“What…?”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and she looks so bashful that he has to wrap his hands in her hair to hang onto the moment. “I…I thought your laptop might’ve been in the trailer. I didn’t find that, but I did find him, so…”

The sheer sentimentality of it almost knocks him off balance. How did he get so…lucky? He has almost nothing to his name, but somehow with her it feels like he has _everything_. His fingers gently smooth the stuffed dog’s fur, finding comfort, but not as much as he does in the soft blonde hair of the girl in front of him.

“Betty,” he whispers, feeling gutted in the best possible way. Melting against her, Jughead presses as many loving, thankful kisses as he can against her mouth.

“All right, that’s enough,” Alice clears her throat, crossing her arms.

Startled, Betty pulls back, but even Mrs. Cooper’s presence can’t scare enough Jughead to disconnect this time. His fingers grip her hip and collar, and he shifts his hips closer to reassert that this time, he’s not going _anywhere_. Alice rolls her eyes.

“They’ve tracked down your father. He barely made it past Greendale thanks to the GPS tracker in your phone. Good call, Betty. I guess now would be a good time to serve him divorce papers,” she sighs aloud, and Jughead frowns, glancing at Betty. It feels kind of weird to be here for this, but unless she sends him away, he’s not leaving her side again. Her fingers wrap around his waist, holding him tight against Hot Dog and her. The closeness puts him at ease, making it easier to be strong for her.

“Jug—I—I’m sorry about your trailer. I tried to stop him.” Her eyes are so big, so earnest, that looking into them like this makes him feel like he’s wading right into the river: comfortable, weightless.

“I know, Betty,” he reassures her. “It’s okay. I—I’m sorry if it was my call that _incited_ him or whatever. Me and my dad, we’ll figure something out.” His fingers trace the new injury on the side of her head. The faint outline of stitches against her scalp makes something hard slick in the back of his throat. Someone tried to _break_ her. Her _father_. He knows how that goes. But she needs him now, so he tries to focus. “Thank you, by the way. I know it must’ve been you who talked to Cheryl about my dad, and you were right about Tall Boy. I think…I think things are going to be okay, Betty. I love you.” He kisses the crest of her forehead, nestling her head gently under his chin.

Alice shifts, still uncomfortable, but considering the teens before her. She’s rarely been outright _rude_ to Jughead, even though he’s sure she’s said _plenty_ to Betty on the subject when he’s out of earshot. Plus, last time she saw him, he wasn’t exactly at his best, a freshly beaten-in Serpent who broke her daughter’s heart. “Mrs. Cooper…I know this is probably a huge adjustment for you. I just want you to know that I’m here for Betty…and I’m here for you too, if you need us.”

Somewhat impressed, Alice shifts. Perhaps there’s hope of placating her yet. “Well. I guess that’s good to know. Betty. Jughead. I’ll give you a minute.”

The young lovers take a moment to just look at each other.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice thick, fingers tentatively splaying against his cheeks. The attention makes him want to moan, to bury her in kisses instead of ash.

“I’m good now that I’m with you.” She exhales, seemingly in agreement. He can’t stop fidgeting, stop _touching_ her, reassuring that she’s real. “I’m sure you’ll fill me in…but…what do you need, Betts?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what to even hope for anymore. He was my dad, and…now I feel like I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know who he is or what I want for him. Healing, I guess. I never thought he’d hit _me_ , Jug. I just—“ She shakes her head, blonde ponytail wriggling behind her. “I didn’t want to fight him anymore. I could’ve tried harder in the kitchen…I…”

“Hey, you are _so_ brave. No one hits Betty Cooper and gets away with it,” he reassures her, thumb on her chin. His voice lowers, treading dangerously from a threat to a promise with every sentence. Her eyes flicker to his lips, taking in every word, even as her tongue swipes her bottom lip. “I don’t care if it’s a Ghoulie. I don’t care if it’s your dad. Even if it’s Archie…I will personally bring my own personal brand of hell on whomever dares lay a hand on you again. You are more important than the trailer. You are more important than the manifesto. I would trade… _everything_ for you, Betty.”

She moves forward, the flutter of her wet lashes against his cheeks surprising him. Instinctively, he pulls her closer. The Betty he knows, the one that reigns him in, wants to ask, “What about your family? What about your father? The Serpents?” She has every right to ask, even if she doesn’t have the strength to right now. She’s watched him fight these choices before, even if they weren’t fully formed in his brain as such at the time. Toledo or Riverdale. North side or South side. In some ways, she’s seen him try to compromise something when he joined the Serpents and stopped taking her calls. He’s a teenager. He makes mistakes. They’ve both had to make impossible choices. Betty had to choose between loving her friends, putting them in danger, or making them hate her and keeping them temporarily safe. They’ve both done things they said they’d never do for the sake of feeling like they can keep people safe, keep them close and push them away.

It’s all confusing. The only thing he wants to do is take her home, wherever that may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fingers crossed next (and presumably final) chapter will be ready for tomorrow. Hal and his magical car are certainly a piece of work. I can totally imagine him being the kinda guy to hide stuff in the lining of his car, even a voice decoder thing. Didn't think absconding with Betty's phone was going to bite him in the butt that way but I'm glad it did. Plus it's been established he's a terrible shot and a couple of people just saw him try to take out the trailer and his daughter, kinda ruining his plan to frame everyone for the time being (although that sick pride would've probably had him itching to sign things B.H. again fairly soon). I think he wanted Betty to have the visual of burning down Jug's trailer before actually taking her to the foster home to kill him, just to prove he meant business (plus he figured Jug's been hanging around the trailer anyway so two birds with one stone if he WAS there). Betty's probably two steps away from having a concussion but I love that girl so she better be okay! I just had some random doctor patch her up with stitches per Alice's wrath on the way to the Sheriff's office while Jug was off trying not to dry heave up and down Sweetwater River looking for her. What'd ya think?


	8. Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FP's release marks a new chapter in Jughead's life, and a new one for the Coopers as they take Hal to trial. Betty and Jughead contemplate the future with the prospects of having and losing their fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the fic as we know it, and they feel FIIIIINE (kinda almost sorta). Also Daddy!FP is my favorite FP. And by that I mean the nice, kinda snarky, psuedo-reformed version of FP...not a sexy dom. Although that's probably nice too.
> 
> (small spoiler warning)  
> There's a little bit of romantic smut towards the end.

Cheryl repeats some very Betty-esque things on the stand, making Jughead wonder if she provided cue-cards or just the sentiments. Cheryl reiterates that her father blackmailed FP and threatened Jughead's livelihood if he didn’t comply. Jughead sits tense, practically vibrating in his seat, sweating so much that he can’t even hold Betty’s hand. Instead she rests it reassuringly on the crook of his elbow. He has to wipe his palms on his knees every few minutes to avoid becoming a pool of sweat.

When the judge agrees to release FP on parole, the father and son leap to their feet, tears streaming freely and jubilantly down their faces. It’s like they have a new lease on life. Jughead embraces the father he hasn’t been able to touch for _months,_ and didn’t think he’d be able to for _years_. FP clasps him tightly over the courtroom barricade and breathes _Thank you_ to Betty, who smiles demurely and mouths the same thing to Cheryl when the boys are both crying, still embraced. The redhead looks a little wistful (or perhaps nauseated) at the display. Betty makes a vow to treat her more like family, no matter how prickly the Vixen can be. Alice sits in the back, covering the event, and trying to hide the uneasy anticipation shaking through her legs at FP’s release.

Betty’s knees buckle as she walks past the room she knows she’ll be in next week, testifying _against_ her father instead of _for_ him. It sickens her, and Alice squeezes her arm reassuringly. Jughead’s hand remains steady at her back, his face alight with glee as he recounts the trial they just endured, eclipsing the gloom of the trial ahead.

Sometimes people make their own happy endings, Betty thinks, even amidst setbacks.

 

* * *

 

Jughead’s glued to Betty’s side, only running forward to greet his father in a sentimental hug. As soon as they part, Jughead fades back into her reassuring touch.

“Mr. Jones,” she smiles fondly, one hand still on his son while she offers a little less crushing version of a hug.

“You probably saved my life. I think you can call me FP,” he laughs, still feeling high walking past the prison fence and in the actual company of ladies beyond Mary Andrews. Plus, having his kid’s better half around has always sort of made him proud. Jughead proved he’s scrappy, that he can fend for himself, that he can scrounge together a functioning, if not thriving relationship despite all the crap life’s thrown at him. 

When he first heard about Betty, it’d been a pleasant surprise. It’s not her _type_ that surprised him (blonde, pretty, smart, sweet, ambitious, a little bossy), but that Jughead’d actually be brave enough to make a move on someone, especially someone Jug probably deemed out of his league. Jug’s the kinda kid to play his cards close to his chest, so to wriggle out of him that _he’d_ kissed _her_ practically knocked FP over backwards.

The girl is just as headstrong and smart and Jug. She was almost the entire reason the town uncovered the Blossom plot at all, the reason he’s able to get out like this. It’s nice having Betty on Team Jones. Maybe Jughead will do better than FP after all, become an amazing writer, with an amazing editor and writer girlfriend, start a family, _keep_ a family, and keep his friends. FP’s just glad he has the opportunity to be _there_ for it now.

FP’s practically floating when Alice clears her throat to ground him a bit. He tries to remember his manners. “Alice! Thanks for the ride. Just like old times. Can’t tell you how much it means to me.” FP tries to be brave, knowing from her glare that she probably still despises him. But it’s fun to dig under her skin a little, get that eyebrow raised like it’s ready to strike him down.

“Is it true what they say about men just released from prison?”

The kids and FP look at each other, Betty a little more wary than the rest.

“What’s that?” FP asks, curious.

“That they’re incredibly sexually frustrated.”

“Mom!” Betty hisses, mortified, even as the Jones’s burst into disbelieving laughter. Alice shrugs it off, heading towards the drivers seat. FP is half expecting Betty to take the passenger’s side, but she hesitates, still clinging to Jughead’s arm, teeth worrying her lip. If they want to sit together in the back, that’s no skin off his nose, but Betty seems like she wants to ask them something and bury herself into his son’s chest.

“What’s going on, little Coop?” FP asks, hesitant to call her _Betty_ because he knows he’ll just linger on the name to tease his son. Alice side-eyes at the nickname, but settles into her normal surliness with an expectant glance at her daughter.

“Um…Mom? I think now’s as good a time as any to bring up that potential…destination.”

The Jones boys swivel, intrigued. “Pop’s?” Jughead asks, and Betty giggles, her grin lighting up her eyes. It warms FP’s heart to see someone look at his son that way.

“No, Jughead, it’s not always about _food_ ,” Alice chides lightly, even as Betty consolingly squeezes his arm. Pursing her lips, Alice summons from her endless pool of brevity. “Jughead. FP. As you know, Hal turned out to be a bigger disappointment than anyone expected.” Understatement of the century. “We—Betty and I know that while your trailer is _livable_ with the patch-up renovations, we’d still like to offer you somewhere else to stay until it can be restored to its normal level of deplorable.”

“Wow. Thanks. A, uh, motel?” FP guesses.

Alice blinks, taken aback. “Of course not. We’re offering you to stay in our home.”

FP thinks there’s a bigger chance of being shot on the street than offered _dinner_ at Alice Cooper’s home, let alone being asked to _stay._ The last time they were there she’d been luring them away to have his trailer ransacked. Kind of a weird parallel.

“Uh…Jug?” he asks, when all other words fail him. He notes Betty’s eager, slightly nervous gaze resting on her boyfriend. She sure sticks to the kid in times of trouble. Jug’s mouth seems incapable of doing anything at the moment except for staying in its half-ajar position, trying to work out if this is a trick. It’s one thing not be in a foster home anymore, reunited with your dad, and quite another to move in with your girlfriend and her high-strung mother, who happens to be your dad’s former flame. Although by the way Betty and Jughead cling to each other, FP’s not really sure if the kids would _want_ to be apart. “What do you think? You’ve seen the trailer but I haven't. I’m inclined to say we’re better off in our own mess but if these ladies are willing to host…”

As if her feathers are ruffled, Alice only deigns her attention on the younger Jones, whose blush creeps up to his ears. “Would I…be staying with Betty?” His fingers curl expectantly into his girlfriend’s, and FP laughs at the audacity.

“Of course not! Separate bedrooms. You too.” Alice points at FP, trying to ignore Betty’s sympathetic smirk in Jughead’s direction and FP’s own mischievous leer. “Polly’s room is up for grabs, and we have a pull-away mattress for guests. If you two don’t want to share a room, there’s always the sofa or the…” she trails off, renaming Hal’s study. “Office area. I just need my time to unwind and cook with Betty. My work and my family come first. We’re not a soup kitchen and I know how Jughead eats so we won’t be providing _every_ meal without some kind of grocery fund but you certainly won’t starve. There will be _no_ drugs, _no_ drinking, and _no_ hoodlums.”

“Well that means we’re out,” FP teases, jostling his son lightly on the elbow. It’s a gift to even be able to do _that_. At Alice’s affronted look, he shakes his head. “I’m kidding, Alice. We’re still Serpents, but I’m in AA. Clean as a whistle. In more ways than one.”

Jughead makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Betty takes over with the same determination she did when inviting FP to Jughead’s disastrous birthday party. “You know, we’re still potentially targets for the Ghoulies. It might even be…helpful…for us to have some extra people around for protection. I know you’ve been through a lot, so it’s really up to you and whatever you feel ready for. You two have been apart for a while, so if you want it to be just you two for a while, I totally understand.”

FP looks at Jughead, who is so decidedly entwined with Betty they look like they’re two steps away from a wedding cake topper. He and his son do deserve time on their own, but they also deserve to go somewhere they can be cared for and relax for a while. Besides, once the trailer was fixed up they’d be on their own again. This is really…perfect…it lets them get back on their feet.

“I’m in,” FP shrugs casually, knowing he’s made the right decision from the relief and shy bliss blossoming on his son’s face. Betty squeezes his arm tighter. “Hey if I can survive prison, I can survive a few weeks in the Cooper house, right?”

“Don’t count on it,” Alice warns, although she looks a little self-satisfied. Same spitfire as ever. FP climbs into the passenger side, checking on the lovebirds in the back through the rear view mirror every once in a while. There is no doubt in his mind that Jughead is going to sneak into that girl’s room every chance he gets. It’s probably one of those “open door” houses where the kids are supposed to sit semi-supervised five feet apart. But hey, if it makes Jughead happy…that kid deserves every chance he can get. Everyone knows FP’s had more chances than he deserves.

He glances at Alice, who’s focused on the road ahead. “So. You don’t think the gossip mill is going to churn when you shack up, recently divorced, with an ex-con and his south side son who wants to share a room with your daughter?”

“Of course it will. But I hardly think it’s as bad as having an inbred teen pregnancy and mass murderer in the house.”

Betty flinches in the back seat. FP notes the way Jughead immediately tends to her neck with his palm, covering the most vulnerable part of her.

His elbow reaches across, lightly jostling Alice. “Were we this bad when we were young?”

“Worse,” she smirks, glancing at her daughter in the rear view mirror. “We were just better at hiding it.” The smirk fades in apprehension, and he can tell the unflappable Alice Cooper is just a little… _worn down_ by recent events.

The unspoken layers of her previous statement might as well be drawn on their bodies like tattoos. She’s hidden her south side roots, her violence and anger. Her recent husband hid murderous borderline evangelical tendencies. For a while, FP’d been hiding that he was drowning in alcoholism and petty crime in an attempt to support the Serpents. Jughead hid his homelessness, his fear, and usually whatever he was really angry about. FP’s not sure what Betty might’ve been hiding besides the whole tortured Black Hood thing, and maybe it’s better that Jug and Alice are the ones who hold her secrets. Maybe she’s just pretending to be okay right now, the way Alice did when they were young.

FP and Alice didn’t hide the physical aspects of their relationship back in high school, but they did suppress any emotional attachment. Alice Cooper only said “I love you” to three men in her life and would swear she never meant it. Her father, FP, and Hal Cooper. There was no _possible_ way she actually loved that psychopath square. He just offered her a way out, something FP didn’t have at the time and doesn’t have now. FP doesn’t _love_ Alice anymore, he’s still not sure if he ever did, but he does _like_ her…and he definitely likes Betty. He’s hoping that she’s _it_ for Jug, if it still makes him happy down the road.

They drive on, an unlikely, somewhat happy family.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s fingers curl into Jughead’s, leaning her cheek on his shoulder as they ride back to the house. The rocking motion added to the comfort of his touch makes her want to close her eyes and fall asleep. No more scary dreams. Lately it’s been of her house set on fire, her father slamming his gasoline-soaked fist against the window, bellowing, “Trust me, Betty, I’m the only one who understands you!” Shaking, Betty turns to the soft tapping on the other window, and there’s Jughead in his sherpa jacket, no Serpent leather, just a shy smile. She opens it, afraid her father will hear, and warns him about the fire. “You’re more than my Juliet,” he assures her, no bags under his eyes. “You’re everything.” He climbs into the house and the window closes. Her father and the fire disappear, replaced by Archie and Veronica dancing in the back yard. Kevin sways, looking on affectionately. Her mother and FP banter, bringing food out to the yard where Polly helps set a table. Jughead tugs her affectionately to the couch, and she finds herself falling into his lap, kissing him, knowing that _this_ portion of the dream always ends too quickly.

The real Jughead kisses her forehead affectionately, sending a pleasant tingle across her skin. “Tired?” he asks. She nods mutely.

“It’s a lot of excitement for one day,” Alice chides, her watchful gaze reaching them from the mirror.

“It’s a lot of excitement for one lifetime,” she mumbles, nuzzling Jughead’s jaw. The light chuckle is his throat vibrates against her forehead, making her smile. _This is happening_ , she thinks. The house doesn’t have to feel so empty, so barren in the absence of her sister and father. The Jones’s won’t _replace_ them, of course, the same way the Coopers can’t replace Jellybean and Gladys. But having them all together will bring _life_ into the house again. Laughter, maybe. _Comfort_. Her fingers squeeze Jughead’s for reassurance, and they’re pulling up to the house before they know it.

Jughead leans to the window, confused. “Shouldn’t we get Dad’s stuff from the trailer first?”

“We will, after dinner. I just didn’t want your father’s first sight to be a half-melted trailer. You two can take a look at Polly’s room, see what you need, and then we’ll head over and get whatever things you think you’ll need while you’re here.”

“Sounds good,” FP says good-naturedly, peering out the window. Betty can tell by the way his fingers hovered over the window control that he’s dying to get back on his bike, hair in the wind. Even Jughead seems antsy, anticipating quality time with the new and improved FP.

It’s a little bizarre, leading them to Polly’s room. FP takes in the pastel wallpaper with a little smirk on his face, nodding calmly as Alice gives pointers on where to put the furniture for maximum use of the space. How long before she stops thinking of things as Polly’s? As her _parents'_ now that there’s only one she even wants to think about?

Jughead’s hand slips into hers, interrupting the pressure of her nails she wasn’t even aware of. He doesn’t make a scene about it, but she knows he’s looking out for her.

“Hey, is it okay if I have my dad to myself for a while?” he whispers in her ear.

“Yeah, of course, Jug.” As if he needs to ask. Still, it’s polite, and she appreciates being clued in. “Do you want to dinner on your own? Or maybe you could walk to the trailer, and we could come pick you up?”

The plans are fluid, and soon FP and Jughead set off on their own to do some catching up.

Jughead doesn’t check in for a while, but cold panic doesn’t bloom in her chest like it has in the past. He’s coming back.

 

That night, Jughead reads and writes with her on the ledge next to her window. The door is partially open, of course. FP’s already at a job interview, or maybe celebrating his release with the Serpents. The real Serpent welcoming party isn't supposed to be until tomorrow night, and Betty knows she'll be spending all night keeping a watchful eye on FP so he doesn't get tempted back into bad habits. Jughead's nervous in the new temporary absence of his father, but having FP around again seems to have released some invisible burden off his shoulders. Betty doesn’t pry, and lets them both enjoy their quiet company.

Alice waltzes into the room and Jughead manages not to flinch, remaining somewhat entwined in his girlfriend’s limbs. “I’m going out to get more guest towels.” Her eyes flicker somewhat resigned over the beanie-clad boy wrapped in her daughter. “Did you remember to take your prescription?”

Betty tenses, feeling her hairs stand on end. Her birth control pills? Because her mother knows she hasn't been using the ADHD medication for months. “Yes,” she says through clenched teeth, because either way she doesn’t want to get involved in this discussion with her mother in front of her boyfriend.

“Fine,” Alice concedes, giving Jughead one last scathing look before retreating down the stairs. “Call me if any Ghoulies or any other long-lost enemies show up.”

They sit still until they hear the door downstairs lock closed. Betty giggles, releasing just a hint of tension while Jughead lets out a drawn-out sigh. Stuffed animal Hot Dog supports his back against the wall.

“So did your mom have all the locks changed when Hal got arrested?”

Betty clears her throat, trying to avoid inevitably getting choked up. “Before then, when she kicked him out. We just forgot to change the garage key code.”

“And now?”

“Changed, so you and your dad can get in without us having to change the locks _again_ when you move out. It took me two hours to convince her you weren’t going to give the code to the Serpents.” The thought of Jughead leaving again or running with the Serpents makes her chest tighten, so she changes the subject. “So...how does it feel to be Archie’s neighbor instead of roomie?”

“Well, the view out his bedroom window was _much_ better,” Jughead smirks, leaning over to grant her a chaste kiss. It’s nice. Sweet. What she needs. But maybe not as fulfilling as what she _wants_.

Glancing curiously out the window and not seeing the familiar redhead across the street, Betty starts to close the drapes around them. Jughead moves his leg, arching his eyebrow at her. She gives him just the hint of a smile. “Archie doesn’t need to see _everything._ Especially when our parents aren’t home.”

It’s a steady look her boyfriend gives her, searching and understanding all at the same time. It almost reminds her of when she put her parents names on the murder board back in the day. He looked so enraptured, proud in some small way, and yet she didn’t see it back then. That by putting their name on that board, she was giving away of piece of herself…maybe even giving it to him. She hadn’t fully understood his admiration, her parents’ guilt. Now it’s all she sees. It’s everything.

She’s drawn out of her reverie by Jughead’s hand stuttering down her thigh. They lean forward slowly, their passion building gently instead of crashing all at once. Their kisses are slow, testing. Jughead’s fingers explore the skin just under the hem of her clothes—her hips, her stomach, her back, tracing stories on her skin.

The golden glow of sundown makes her shiver, feeling that spark of doubt, of her own madness overwhelming her. The soft bite of teeth on her tongue reminds her— _we’re all crazy, Betts._ Her fingers close around his biceps, deepening the kiss, enjoying the way he makes her feel _safe_ again, kissing or no. Sated yet inspired, Betty pulls back, enjoying the way his eyes remain slightly unfocused, trained on her face. It’s enough to make her go to the door, closing and locking it, despite her mother’s oft-checked request. Jughead stays where he is, waiting for her, pulling his beanie off to rest it on the window sill. Jughead almost never wears it when they’re inside, when they’re alone now. It’s something special, something she treasures. His inky hair falls beautifully over his pale face, complementing its other dark features. His long eyelashes. The speckle of beauty marks. The soft-set bags under his eyes. She wants all of him. Always.

It’s like he’s reading her, memorizing her. His mouth parted, his eyes searching, completely patient and longing all at the same time. The idea of being apart, of being unwanted, seems so far away. Her fingers automatically go to release her hair, fluffing it as the yellow softness tumbles across her shoulders. “Jug,” she says softly, lifting her sweater over her head. 

He stands, moving towards her, pausing on the other side of the bed. It’s like he’s following every nonverbal cue, removing his shirts when she continues to unbutton her jeans. It seems ridiculous to keep her underwear on, so Betty just rids herself of everything. Jughead’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he follows suit. When they’re both stark naked, hair down, they take a second to appreciate it. Jughead’s hand scruffs the back of his neck, mussing his hair there as he openly reads her body. Her eyes linger on the way his hip bones form a soft V right before his pubic bone, his dick still half soft, resting amidst the coarse hair trail leading from his belly button. While Betty appreciates the looking, she wants to touch it, to _feel_ again.

Betty crawls forward on the bed, knees leading so she’s still somewhat upright. Jughead mirrors the gesture, moving forward until their thighs are flush. Hesitant, as if waiting for permission, he puts his hands on her hips, smoothing the skin there. This time when their lips meet it’s wet, giving, and lingering. Their tongues smooth over one another, Jughead’s fingers switching to knead her hair. She’s not even fully aware _where_ her hands are, they’re just _moving_ , smoothing, gripping, caressing. Everything flows naturally, even when his fingers tweak her nipples, causing her to break away in a sharp gasp. Eventually, gently, he braces her neck and lowers her onto the bed. They continue kissing, her knees bending, spreading apart as his fingers find her center. If she wasn’t so caught up in the moment she’d be embarrassed by how wet she is, but Jughead seems to like it, moaning softly when his fingers find her wanting. He stretches her, rubs her to the point she’s clenching against him, but she wants _more._

Jug’s not a security blanket, he’s the love of her young life, but somehow when his body covers hers it feels like _everything makes sense again_. Their eyes flutter closed at the contact, aligning perfectly. “I need you, Jug,” she whispers, his fingers instinctively digging into her a little harder. She feels his breath on her neck, the perfect tightness of his entry. Shifting, she puts one leg up on his shoulder, letting him in deeper until there’s nothing left to give. It’s wonderful. She looks up at him under fluttering lashes, loving the depth of caring in his expression, the way that dark tendril keeps falling on his forehead as they move together. Those blue eyes are almost black with desire, but instead of swallowing her whole they’re opening up everything inside of her. 

She moans, biting her lip, and feels him tighten against her. From his stuttered body language, she can tell he’s trying to hold on, just a little insecure about how long this might be.

“Sit on the bed,” she tells him, kissing his shoulder. He moves back as she said, and although she instantly misses the warmth of him, it’s not long before she’s able to crawl onto his lap, pushing him back against the headboard and slipping him back inside. He’s looking _up_ at her now in this position, awed, fingers and mouth able to reach so much more. Soft kisses pepper her neck and chest, teeth and tongue lingering in a way that makes her back arch.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Betty.” The words feed her, eliciting a strained groan. She’s feeling _so_ _much_. There’s no room for anything else except for love and want. His hand reaches between them, thumbing her clit in circles until she’s seeing stars. Her walls clench down on him hard, the orgasm rippling through her, pulling him with her into bliss. It’s impossible to even feel the pain of being slammed down on him amidst the mind-obliterating pleasure rushing through her.

Finally settling, she opens her eyes again and watches the way he pants, catching his breath. The past few days, that’s what it’s felt like. They’re finally able to just catch their breath.

“I love you, Betty.”

“I love _you,_ Jughead.”

Their foreheads meet, sweaty to the touch. They unwind slowly in each other’s embrace. Eventually, she kisses his chest and admits, “I think we need to shower before my mom gets home with the towels.”

He chuckles, but pulls her close to him again. At first she thinks it’s endearing, but then she realizes he has something he wants to say. “Betty? I, um…I wanted to talk to you about everything. Like, you and me everything.”

“Yeah?” She tries to suppress the nervous energy bubbling just underneath.

“I…um…I’m still a Serpent.” She knows. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t meet his gaze. Her fingers graze the hollow of his collar bone. It’s odd now to think someone had stabbed her in that very spot. “Now, I don’t know how _involved_ Dad is going to be now that he’s out of prison, but we’re not going to defect or abandon them. That doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon _you_.” His fingers grip into a little harder for reassurance. “It just means we’ll still be spending some time apart, some time I may not be able to tell you what I’m doing.”

Her face flits away from him. More secrets. He jostles her on his lap, trying to get her attention. “Hey, it’s for your protection. I don’t want you getting mixed up in all this.”

“Jug, I’m already mixed up in it. I inadvertently put away half the Ghoulies in town. Hasn’t this whole mess proved that we _can’t_ keep protecting each other? We have to support one another.” For once he seems startled by the intensity in her green eyes. “We evolve or we die. I once said I wanted to know _all_ of you, Jug, and I mean it. If there’s something you truly feel you can’t tell me, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it. After all we’ve been through…I don’t want anything like secrets keeping us apart.”

He falters for a second, and she can see him processing what she’s had to say. It’s a little more of an open expression than when she suggests edits on his novel or articles. “Okay, so…if Sweet Pea decides to indulge in his violent tendencies and I need to cover up a misdemeanor, what should I say?”

“Out with Sweet Pea, covering his ass. I'll be home at 6.”

The directness and use of the word _ass_ makes him laugh. “You think Serpent business ends at 6? That’s like, when it _starts_.”

“Don’t Serpents have families?” she asks, and then at his halted stare, covers, “I’ll think of it like an after-school club. You made a commitment, or whatever Principal Weatherbee’s always telling me. But you can’t spend _all_ of your time with them, Jug. There have to be boundaries. We have to be thinking about school. About our future.”

“Our future…” he repeats contemplatively, fingers intertwining with her own.

For a second she wonders if he’s looking at her left hand a little too long. His fingers trace her ring finger, as if somehow measuring or marking there. She’s not sure if she should be pleased or terrified that they’re even thinking of that. She wants forever with Jug, but…

The future.

Her mouth goes dry, Jughead shifting nervously underneath her. “Betty, what is it?”

Whenever their eyes meet this way, so open, she feels like she’s letting him read her diary, that he can see into whatever awful, wonderful thoughts are buried within her. “It’s…my dad.” His fingers close around her more forcefully, his gaze probing. “I have to take the stand in a few days. If Malachai is going to go for parole I’ll have to go up again. It’s just…my _dad_.” Jughead listens thoughtfully, repositioning so her neck is supported under his arm. Betty licks her lips, knowing the words come easier with him than with anyone else. “I always thought…he’d be there…cheering me on my graduation. My wedding day. My first big byline, posting it on the fridge. But he won’t be there for any of it. My dad is a murderer, Jug. The same guy who taught me how to fix up cars, who made me feel _special,_ has killed people…and wants to push me to do the same.” She hates the sound of her voice right now, on the verge of perturbed, outraged tears. “He even burned down your trailer! How am I supposed to reconcile that? I mean, when my parents separated, it was _temporary_. Even if they got a divorce, I would see him at Christmas, Thanksgiving. But this…this changes _everything._ It feels like nothing makes sense, and I’m afraid that I’ll just end up trying to _control_ everything until it does again…when nothing may ever _be_ _okay_ again.”

“Betty,” Jughead murmurs, kissing her hair, trying to get her to face him. She’s restless, complying but squirming against him.

“I _know_ you get it Jug…well as much as you can. I mean, you went through something like this with _your_ dad. I just—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how this is going to affect us—our family—any more than it already has. I feel so _ashamed,_ like, how am I ever going to make up for this?”

The tears spill over, and it’s like Jughead’s heart is breaking too. His mouth parts in a silent plea, fingers quickly going to her cheeks as if he can catch the tears there. If parts of her felt broken before, now something feels _hollow,_ aching for the future she knows she’ll never have. Why couldn’t her family choose love instead of hate? And yet, how is she supposed to choose to love her father after all that he’s done? Is it even a choice at this point? Maybe choosing Jughead, her mom, Polly, heck-Riverdale itself-is choosing love.

Serious blue-grey eyes bore into hers. “You are not responsible for other people's choices. You and Archie are the only reason I made it through all of that stuff alive. I made mistakes. I lashed out, pushed people away,” his fingers smooth her cheeks, tugging her face close to his. “Because I wanted to know I would be strong enough to stand alone, I wanted to know what it would like to have _nothing_ , because that’s what it felt like I deserved. I never pictured lost Christmases with my dad or even Jellybean’s birthday because I didn’t think I deserved any of it. It just…wasn’t in the cards for me. This is different for you.”

Sometimes she forgets how alone he was…before. Her fingers reach up to trace his jaw, wanting to protect him. Ironically, he looks down at her wanting just the same, his gaze lingering on her lips before dragging back up to her eyes.

“You have this inextinguishable hope, Betty. I love that about you. You’re _different_ from so many other voices in the crowd. You see people for what they should be. Archie. My dad. Me. The situation with Polly. When things don’t go the way they should, you jump right up and do everything you can to fix it. And I love that about you, my little social justice warrior,” he reassures her, sweeping his thumb over her bottom lip, earning just the hint of a teary smile. “Your dad hid this from you, hid it from himself, probably. There is no way to fix or change how he is, what he’s done. I don’t want you to feel _ashamed_ for loving him or not seeing it before. You can still cherish the good times with your dad, knowing that things have…changed or devolved.”

Something like a Cujo reference dances behind his eyes…a dog bitten by a bat to drive him into an enraged bloodthirsty hound. But Hal wasn’t a dog to be put down at the end of the book or movie. He was her dad. But maybe she can hold onto parts of him, like fixing cars, The Register, writing. Maybe not all parts of him, the parts he gave to her, had to be bad. The lingering worry of somehow keeping the not-so-great parts thrums under her skin.

Jughead senses her stilling, resigned, and shakes his arm gently to get her to look back up at him. “You are _so strong._ There is only one thing your dad was right about, and it’s that you’re a _warrior,_ Betty Cooper. You are a warrior.” She wants to believe him, nodding, bleary eyed. His fingers work their way into her palm. “And sometimes warriors carry scars.” The feel of his skin against the crescents on her palms should burn, but all she feels is vulnerable, constricting. “You weren't some soldier blindly following orders, like your dad with his parents. You were fighting to save people's lives. Your father…this whole mess has left you with more than one person should carry. So let us help you carry that burden when we can. Let us tend your wounds,” his lips press tentatively to her palm, then her ring finger. “Make new memories, maybe ones we weren’t expecting.”

He’s so sincere, even if they both know it’s too early for _that_ kind of commitment. She feels like emotionally, they're already bound until death and beyond.

The gesture reminds Betty of sitting in the diner after his birthday disaster. She’d planned the day with the hopes of gaining some control in her life, in his joy, expecting her boyfriend to be smiling and jubilant at the party she’d planned especially for him. But that wasn’t even close to what happened. He’d ended up fighting with a sour attitude, she’d been humiliated and yelled at, and it’d led to a surprisingly brutally honest moment together in Pop’s. They gave each other a glimpse of their vulnerability, him kissing her scarred palms, her comfortingly reassuring him that she loved him as he was. It’s a similar position to where they are now. It wasn’t the future she’d envisioned for the day. It hadn’t been nearly as joyful. But it had been important, nonetheless. And the first Christmas without Hal would be important, even if it was painful. The first college acceptance letter. The eventual walk down the aisle. Maybe they’ll elope. Knowing herself, she’ll try to over-prepare for these moments so they sting a little less. But she can’t _always_ …because this is the rest of her life.

Looking up into Jughead’s eyes, maybe that’s okay. Not better, not worse, just…different. Life.

If her father hadn’t turned out to be murderer and tried to burn Jughead’s trailer down, she may not have had this kind of moment with Jughead. Naked, vulnerable, safe. Their lives would continue to have meaningful moments, with or without their fathers.

 

* * *

 

Jughead lays on the floor mattress listening to his dad’s snore. It’s not as bad as when he used to drink. It’d almost be endearing, especially since he hasn’t had the chance to _hear_ it in such a long time. But something else catches Jughead’s ear, making him shift up onto his elbows to hear better.

It’s shallow breaths. Crying.

Without a second thought, Jughead tip-toes into the hallway and makes his way to Betty’s room. She jerks over onto her side at his entry, jade eyes wide and teary. Without a word, he slips into bed behind her.

Her voice catches, weary. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, it’s just…tomorrow…”

“I know, Betty. I know. I’m here. You don’t need to be sorry.”

He kisses her ear, embracing the way her body molds so effortlessly into his. Within minutes, they’re both drifting towards sleep. They awaken in the early AM, surprisingly not to an Alice Cooper lecture about delicate sensibilities, although the door does look like it’s been moved in the night. Maybe just the air conditioning blew it in a new direction? Jughead quickly shimmies off the bed and kisses Betty before slipping back into his own room. FP grumbles something in his sleep and rolls over back into oblivion. About half an hour of pretending to sleep later, Jughead hops in the shower, eventually rejoining Betty in her room over the covers to play with her hair and talk softly about nothing.

“Hello you two,” Alice pops in, fixing an earring. “Jughead, will you and FP be joining us at the courthouse today?”

“I will, Mrs. Cooper. My dad’s gonna stay out of the courthouse for a little while if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” It’s almost unnerving how she treats the summons like just another newspaper assignment. Maybe she’s compartmentalizing?

Betty looks a little more raw, eyes still puffy from last night. At least she’s sleeping now. Jughead’s noticed her slowly starting to come around again, laughing at Kevin’s jibes, chatting with Archie. She seems to be one of the few the redhead will actually share his feelings with, which makes Jughead proud and jealous at the same time. Once in a while he still gets a weird vibe, but he knows better and talks himself down…most of the time. The other times he takes it out on his Serpent duties, and has been hanging out with them on rotation at school.

Betty occasionally braves an appearance at the Serpent table, where Sweet Pea looks at her with the same befuddled expression he has for spectacular contemporary art. It speaks to him, he just doesn't understand it. Eventually Jughead has to warn her that the Serpents are getting a little uncomfortable with her familiarity, because inevitably Archie and the whole gang migrate to the other side of that table to stay even closer together. The Serpents think it'll ruin their image (more than the stupid outfits Cheryl tried to have them wear? Jughead isn't sure). So Betty shrugs and says she has more important things to worry about, reminding him, "Isn't that what we're doing, Jughead? Tying the north and south side together? Reuniting Riverdale?" He doesn't have an answer for that, so Betty wins and sits just at the edge of the table divide talking to whomever she pleases. Jug eventually follows suit, and although the table divide is still notable, there is significantly less hostility on either side of it when they're all together.

Betty goes out of her way to touch base with Cheryl, even if the responses can be prickly at times. Polly’s been fairly absent since deciding to stay at the farm (something about vibes and auras) but she does visit, and even allows Jughead to handle the twins. It’s like a quiet test to see how he handles the rest of the family stress, as if the whole serial killer thing wasn’t enough. Betty’s back to commiserating with Veronica, who supplies an endless amount of resilience with her own parental issues. Jughead snorts when they three reach the point they can joke, “ _Maybe all of our dads will go to prison,”_ Veronica leaning over and squeezing Archie’s thigh with an “Except yours, Archiekins!”

It’s…bizarre. But it’s their life.

Theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! Thank you so much for your kind comments and kudos, which really motivated me to finish this story. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this emotional journey. So that was a novel, huh?
> 
> I think Alice totally knows and somewhat approves of Jughead comforting Betty on the morning/night of Hal's trial. She's holding it together a little bit better than the show because she hasn't felt Betty pulling away in this story. They were taking solace by camping out in each other's rooms, Betty was listening to her and coming home right away. She's still Boss!Alice. Plus she's got FP and Jughead in the house for a bit and would HATE to break down in front of him, especially since her (ex)husband ruined their trailer. I think once they leave Alice might go through a minor breakdown and take Betty down with her with the need for control spiraling, but hey that's another fic for another day (maybe)
> 
> I was GOING to have one last section at the end but my fiancé was like, "YOU DON'T NEED IT" so I just stared at this most of last night until I was happy with it today. I just love these little snugbugheads. I seriously want to write/read about Betty and Jughead's wedding sans Hal, who will hopefully be in prison for a VERY long time. But part of me thinks Betty would still try to forgive him in her own way. What do you think?
> 
> Special thanks to jandjsalmon for giving me little snippets of their favorite parts ^-^ Seriously, comments are the best, especially when they're nice ones!
> 
> I feel bad for making Betty go through all that shenanigans but in a weird way I think what actually happened in the show was kinda worse for her? No more Betty crying! I mean, okay a few scenes! BUT NO MORE! Also I know Jughead tends to go from 0-1000% with the Serpents but I hope Serpent Queen Betty is able to ground him into a decently happy human being satisfied with his role in the world? In this fic I imagine his dad is able to keep running the Serpents as a low-key gang since they don't owe Penny anything and half the Ghoulies are in jail for now, so Jughead won't go up to 1000 on the stress scale and freak out. Well maybe when they get out and Malachai makes a play for Betty when she's 18 XD Oh me and my imagination.
> 
> Songs I listened to while writing this fic were "idfc" by Blackbear, "Soap" by Melanie Martinex, and "Voyeur" by Baths. Most likely I will be making fan videos at my youtube account at some point so if you're curious drop me a comment.
> 
> Anyways thanks again, let me know if you enjoyed, and uh yeah thoughts and happiness and all that jazz.


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